


Cinderphale

by Scarlett_Oakenshield



Series: Good Omens Fairytale Collection [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Aziraphale as Cinderella, Cinderella Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fantasy, Gabriel is mean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, crowley and adam are brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Oakenshield/pseuds/Scarlett_Oakenshield
Summary: As the title suggests, this is a rewrite of "Cinderella" with the Good Omens characters.After the death of his mother, Aziraphale is at the mercy of his cruel adopted siblings. They reduce him to a lowly servant. The solace he finds is with his animal friends, his bookkeeper friend from town, the mysterious blank book that she gave him, the prospect of the three-night ball at the palace, and a certain handsome red-head with dark glasses.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Fairytale Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683589
Comments: 31
Kudos: 166





	1. Pious and Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pansychic27213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansychic27213/gifts).



**__ **

**~1~**

There was once a good woman who had five children. Her son, Aziraphale, was the only one of her flesh and blood. The other four were adopted, and always envious of their brother.

Aziraphale was a fine boy, indeed. He was neither thin nor large, he described himself as soft. He was fair, and his complexion was warm. He had a sweet smile, curly white-blonde hair, and wide, dark doe eyes.

Before his mother left, she'd said, "Aziraphale, my dear boy, stay pious and good. Have courage and be kind. I will always be there to watch over you." She promised. And then, she was gone, leaving him at the mercy of his cruel step siblings. All exceptional in beauty and reverence, they were, but they were not so pretty inside as out. In fact, all of them were horribly ugly inside. If their outside reflected their inside, they would be the ugliest creatures you'd ever laid eyes on. 

The second their mother left, the eldest and cruelest of the siblings, Gabriel, said that he was to be head of household. Sandalphon would be his right hand. After him was Michael, and after her, Uriel. Beneath Uriel was all the animals, and the household staff. And on the bottom of their hierarchy, was Aziraphale. In time, they would come to reduce him to nothing but a lowly servant.

Gabriel calls him to the couch one morning. From the hall, Aziraphale can hear Michael and Uriel quarreling again.

"Here's the thing." Gabriel begins coldly, "Uriel and Michael have been staying the same room for a while, and, quite frankly, all it's doing is making them bicker. They’re having trouble staying in such small confinements. 

_Have courage and be kind...stay pious and good..._

"W-well, my room is the biggest besides for your room and Sandalphon's. Perhaps they can share it?" 

Gabriel smiles cruelly, "How nice of you, Aziraphale. Though, we couldn't expect you to do that..." 

"I honestly don't mind at all, Gabriel, really. I can stay in--"

"The attic. Of course." he finishes. 

"The attic?" Aziraphale echoes, frowning.

"Temporarily. I plan to have this drab house renovated." Gabriel replies, "There's shelves of books and plenty of bric-a-brac up there that'll keep you entertained. Keep you away from all the fuss and bother. An isolated, quiet place. There's a window, so it'll be nice and airy too." He thrusts a box of old, dusty books into Aziraphale's hands, "Have fun." He waves dismissively, a cruel glint in his violet eyes. Aziraphale turns and starts up the long flight of stairs.

Upstairs, the attic is dark, and creepy. The air is dusty and dank. A stale smell lingers in the air. Aziraphale coughs. He sets the box on an old desk and walks over to the window. He throws open the drapes, which stirs up another cloud of particles. He sneezes and coughs again. He throws open the windows, letting in the warm, spring air. It illuminates the small little attic. He turns around and examines the clutter. It would need some work- straightening up, a bit of dusting, but he could make a wonderful living space out of this.

“No one will disturb me, here.” he says to himself, smiling weakly, “I’ll be able to read my books in peace. No step siblings, just me…and the books. This could work out just fine.”

-xXx-

For a while, life carried on, just as normal. Aziraphale would wake up, care for all the animals, help the staff in the kitchen—although he’d spend more time sneaking samples than doing any sort of helping. Each morning, he’d tie an apron round himself and take the basket out, throwing grain to the animals, and then collecting chicken eggs, then he’d take them to the kitchen. He remained ever cheerful. 

This morning was just the same. He wakes up, yawns and stretches, washes his face, changes into day clothes, ties the apron round himself, and the bandanna around his head to keep his curly white-blonde hair from getting dirty. He slips into his worn shoes and makes his way swiftly down the winding staircases. He stops in the kitchen to get the basket full of grain. The second he pushes open the doors, all the animals gather around him. Before feeding them, he smiles over the hedge at the neighbor.

“Good morning, Madame Tracy!” he calls.

The blonde woman waves to him, “Good morning Aziraphale.”

“Tell your husband hullo for me!”

“Of course, I will, dear~”

With another smile, he turns his attention back to the animals, “Alright, alright, settle down!” he says, “You’ll all have your share.” he begins tossing the food out, and the chickens and birds stumble over one another to get their breakfast. The mice sneak in and take some too. He gives an apple and hay to the old dapple-gray horse. The ancient hound gets scraps of meat and attempts to consume grain too.

Aziraphale hears a rustle in the bushes. He smiles softly and gets down onto his knees and puts some food in his hand, “Come on, it’s alright.” he says softly, “I’ve got a handful here just for you.” There’s another rustle. At, first, the only thing that appears is whiskers and a twitching pink nose, before the little white rabbit hops out and eats from his hand. Although it’s small, it’s chubby, because Aziraphale takes good care of it. He scratches the rabbit between the ears, before he gets up again and goes to the chicken coop to gather eggs. On his way out, he nearly steps on his favorite animal friend.

“Oh goodness! Crawly!” he bends down and puts out a hand. The small garter snake slithers into his palm. Aziraphale scoops him up, “You ought to stop slithering out into the middle of the coop, you’ll get trampled one day.”

The snake looks at him with round, button eyes and flicks his tongue. Aziraphale chuckles and carries him back to his bush, where he’s dug his little hiding tunnel. He sets the egg in the hiding place. “This ought to keep you full for a couple days, don’t you think so?” The snake flicks its tongue again, and then coils up, resting contently for a moment. Aziraphale gently draws a fingertip across his scales, before letting him down onto the grass. He slowly slithers off, vanishing into the bush and disappearing with a flick of his tail. Aziraphale picks up the basket and starts towards the house.

He ends up in the kitchen, where the staff members prepare breakfast. “Good morning!” he declares, setting the basket down.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Good morning, Mr. Aziraphale! Would you like to sample?”

“Oh absolutely!” He tastes a spoonful of porridge. 

“A touch more cinnamon, and it’s perfect.” he says.

“Very well. We’ll make sure of it.” the servant smiles broadly.

“And the fruit salad looks absolutely wonderful, by the by.” Aziraphale praises. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Aziraphale smiles and whisks out of the kitchen. Once he’s in the main room, he tosses open the drapes to let the warm sunshine in. He glances at the clock. Breakfast was nearly ready. It was time to wake his step siblings. He draws in a deep breath and adjusts his signature plaid cravat. Then, he starts his rounds.

-xXx-

He quietly opens the double doors to his old bedroom, where Uriel and Michael are still sound asleep and snoring. The room is in disarray, and there’s feathers littering the floor, which tells him that they had another disagreement that was solved by way of pillow fighting again. He would have to repair the pillows for about the dozenth or so time. He steps over them and throws open the drapes.

“Rise and shine, if you don’t mind~” he says, “Breakfast is nearly ready.” He glances over his shoulder. Michael groans and throws a pillow over her head.

“For Heaven’s sake, cut the awful rhyming.” Uriel’s grumble mutters, “You’re about as far from a poet as one good get. Shut it or I’ll shut you up myself.” Aziraphale frowns and closes his mouth. The dark-skinned, short-haired young figure sits up in bed.

He forces a smile, “Good, you’re awake.”

In the other bed, Michael yawns and lifts her arms over her head. Her hair has fallen loose, pooling down her shoulders in chestnut-colored strands.

“Good morning, Michael,” Aziraphale says respectfully, “How did you sleep?”

“Cut the formalities and get out our clothes.” she scoffs, “I don’t want to be late for breakfast again.” 

“R-right.” He scurries over to the wardrobes and takes out the clothing they request, lying them neatly at the foot of each of their beds. Once that’s been taken care of, he heads into the next room to wake Sandalphon. He’s the easiest one to rouse usually, although, just as the rest, he isn’t close to nice or polite.

Once his clothes have been laid out, he goes into the biggest room to wake Gabriel. He slowly pushes the door open, and steps into the dark room. The figure still lies sound asleep in the middle of the giant canopy bed, with a crisp night-shirt and light snoring. He crosses the well-kept room and throws open the draperies, letting the sunlight in.

“Rise and shine, Gabriel.” He rises like a princess from a fairytale, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He would be charming if he wasn’t such a prick.

“What was that, Aziraphale? I must have misheard you. Did you say “rise and shine, _Gabriel_ ”?” he raises an eyebrow and casts a condescending look with glaring violet eyes. 

Azriphale clears his throat, “Uhh, pardon me…rise and shine, sir.”

Gabriel smirks cruelly, “Better.”

Aziraphale crosses the room and selects an outfit.

“No. Absolutely not that one.” Gabriel scoffs, tossing the perfectly clean clothing on the floor, “Try again.”

He tries again. And again. And again. And again. By the time he’s selected an outfit there’s a generous pile in the middle of the floor for to be cleaned. Gabriel slowly gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom to wash his face. He comes back, and, like a lowly butler, Aziraphale is forced to help dress him and tie his shoes while shrinking under a condescending stare. As he is getting up, Gabriel makes a point to rudely kick him in the shoulder with his shoe, before disappearing into the main part of the house.

-xXx-

At the breakfast table, Aziraphale endures their jibes, insults, and glares as he eats with them.

“Did you ever think, to, perhaps, do something with that atrocious mop of hair upon your head?” Michael scoffs. For her own lovely tresses have been done up in a neat updo.

“I honestly like my hair the way it is, Miss.” he tells her. Michael rolls her eyes and scoffs. Aziraphale reaches across the table for another slice of bread, but the basket is pulled away from him by Sandalphon, who sneers.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Uriel says, “Instead of gorging.”

“Friendly advice, Aziraphale, sibling-to-sibling,” Gabriel continues, “Might want to consider…limiting your portions and losing that gut of yours.”

“He’ll outgrow his clothing if he doesn’t.” Sandalphon chuckles. The cruel chaffing continues.

Aziraphale draws his hand back and straightens his cloth napkin. “I’m not fat…” he says, “I’m just…soft…”

Uriel snorts with laughter, “Soft? Soft, he says.” They exchange glinting expressions with Michael.

“Like a tiny little chick who hasn’t gotten real feathers yet. Just fluff and down.” Michael adds.

_Well,_ thought Azirphale, _a baby chicken didn’t sound too bad…that’s sort of…nice…_

“…Weak, helpless, and squeaky,” Sandalphon continues.

“Exactly.” Michael confirms.

“Food for foxes.” Uriel brings it full circle.

Gabriel’s guffaw fills the dining room. Aziraphale looks down and flushes with embarrassment.

“Nothing but a little Mama’s boy.” Gabriel adds. They continue to laugh and poke fun.

“E-excuse me…” Aziraphale dismisses himself from the table, avoiding their gazes as they chortle after him, refusing to stop the insults.

“Are you going to tell your Mummy, little chicken?” Sandalphon calls.

“Oh, but you’ve forgotten. He doesn’t have no Mummy to tell.” Uriel says. Aziraphale forces back the stinging behind his eyes.

“That’s a good one- ‘cause, ‘cause she left him. She’s _gone_.” Gabriel adds.

At this point Aziraphale whips back around, “S-she was your mother, too! She took you in a-and she embraced you like family.”

The laughing stops immediately.

“No. She’s not. And she never was.” Gabriel says icily, “She’d never love us as much as she loved you. You’ll always be the favorite. The _perfect_ one. _Hmmph_. Do us a favor, dismiss yourself. Surely, being the _perfect one_ and the _favorite_ sets you on a different tier than us. Bye, bye.”

Not wanting to cause further tension, Aziraphale vanishes into the kitchen. He catches one of the servants.

“Oh, Master Aziraphale, do excuse me…”

“Do you happen to have the list my…siblings…requested of you?”

“Quite so, sir. I was just getting ready to take a trip into town to fetch everything,” she replies.

“Please, dear lady, allow me to go instead.” Aziraphale offers, “I could use a break from them. You and the other servants may finish what little morning work there is to do, and then take the rest of the day for your leisure.”

“Oh- that’s very kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it.” he smiles gently. He leaves the list and basket on the counter and then goes up to change into something else. He comes back down, when he does, Michael’s atrocious singing tells him that his housemates have taken over the drawing-room again. As he passes the room, he sees Gabriel posing, unamused, for a portrait while Sandalphon badly tries to draw him, and Uriel playing the harp and rolling their eyes as Michael belts out of tune.

He chokes back his laughter and vanishes out the door. He gets on the old dapple grey, and rides into town at a steady trot, taking a breath of fresh air and sighing contently as the gentle breeze touches his face.


	2. The Apple and the Book

~2~

He ties the horse in the town stables, so it can rest and eat while he does the shopping he needs to do. He passes the bookshop, giving it a longing look.

_I wonder if the book I wanted is still there…_ he thinks hopefully. _Well…_ He glances down at the long roll of parchment, _I’ll have to stop in after I’ve gotten everything else I need…_

He goes into the market. He had to stop there first, or all the good fruits and vegetables would be gone. He glances at the list. It says he needs a kilo of each the best fruits and vegetables in season, as well as fresh meats from the butcher, a loaf of bread, and a bag of flour. He also apparently needed lace, a parasol, a hat, and a hairpin. He felt a knot of worry in his stomach. He hoped he’d have enough for everything…

When he gets to the market, the streets are lined with vendors, delicious smelling food, and plenty of cheerful people. Everyone laughs and converses happily, and many negotiate bargains so they can afford all this week’s groceries. He makes his way with a series of “excuse me, pardon me…” eliciting from his mouth.

Instead of stopping at each vendor in order, he flits about to the shortest lines, bidding good morning to vendors and the people he recognizes, which is nearly everyone. On his way, he buys a pastry with his pocket money, because he simply can’t refuse the delicious looking treat.

After thanking the vendor, he quickly counts his money once more. _Perfect. I should have just enough money saved to get that book…_

He proceeds to purchase everything he needs, grocery wise, and continues, with full hands, towards the little shops that have clothing, books, and knick-knacks. His hands and basket are very full, and he constantly must stop and adjust himself, so the baguette doesn’t slip.

Suddenly he hears someone call, “Look out!” Something thumps sharply against his head.

“Ow! What on—” he glances around to see what’s hit him. A shiny apple rolls slightly and lands perfectly upright in front of him. He rubs the bump forming on his head, and then walks forward to pick it up. He touches it at the same time as another, and a pale, lanky hand brushes against his. He stiffens and looks up to meet the gaze of the other. He’s met with a pair of dark glasses framed with lovely dark red hair. The face is angular, masculine, and partially hidden beneath a black hood.

“Are you alright?” asks the stranger.

“Yes, I’m fine. Tickety boo.” Aziraphale replies.

The stranger’s face pulls into a befuddled, furrowed brow, “Tickety-boo?”

Azirphale flushes with embarrassment. “I-it’s just something I like to say…” 

“Right, of course.” he smiles, chuckling softly, “Anyway, sorry about that.” says the stranger, “The apple, I mean. We weren’t aiming at you, I swear it. It just that my brother is still working on his aim in catch and he was a bit off.” He looks passed Aziraphale to someone approaching from the other side of the street, “Oi! Watch where you throw, boy, you nearly knocked this poor man unconscious!”

An eleven-year-old with a full head of curly hair and a black and white terrier straining on a leash comes running towards them. He stops in front of them, bending over and holding his knees to huff and puff and catch his breath. He studies Aziraphale, “Sorry ‘bout that. My _older brother_ had the brilliant idea to play catch on a crowded street.”

Aziraphale smiles, “Think nothing of it, it’s really alright. It didn’t hurt that badly.” (Although his head is currently throbbing from it still.)

“Right.” says the dark-clothed one. He picks up the apple and pulls himself into a standing position and Aziraphale straightens his posture. It is then he gets a good look at his figure. The man is tall and thin and very handsome. Aziraphale feels his cheeks heat up. He clears his throat.

“W-well, it’s umm…been a pleasure meeting you, but I really must be going now, I’ve still got errands to run.” Fighting his blush, he averts his gaze and starts briskly down the street again, “H-have a wonderful day! Perhaps we’ll meet again!” and he’s gone before they can respond to him.

The strangers watch him leave, counting his steps. The younger brother, Adam, nudges Crowley, the elder one, in the shoulder.

“What?” Crowley looks down at him through dark glasses.

“The King’s aching to marry you off, and he could be a suitable suitor, don’t you think?” the boy asks.

“Adam, you and I both know Beelzebub won’t approve of anyone but someone of nobility.” Crowley replies.

“It’s stupid though.” Adam scoffs, “She’s already promised me to Lady Pepper. It’s disgusting. Pepper’s one of my best friends, I don’t want to _marry_ her. Neither of us want to get married.”

“You’re eleven. You’ve got more important things to think about than marriage. Like…being a kid, for Heaven’s sake.”

Just then, they hear an obnoxiously aggressive voice call out to them, “Your Highnesses! For Hell’s sake, where are you!? Your sister, the King, will ‘ave our ‘eads if you don’t show yourselves!”

“Let’s run for it.” Crowley says, “I promised you a trip to that bookshop.” Adam nods, and they take off down the street.

-xXx-

Aziraphale goes to buy the parasol, hat, lace, and hair comb, trying to hide his giddiness about speaking to that frightfully handsome stranger. With excitedly shaky hands, he gathers everything.

But when it gets to buying the expensive hair comb, he finds himself tapping into his own pocket money to get it. Michael will be anything but grateful, nor will she care he had to buy part of it with his own money, but he’d rather have her greedy materialism satisfied than face her wrath if he comes home without it.

He pockets what little left he has of his pocket money, and then proceeds into the bookshop.

It’s a small little shop, with stacks and piles of books on mismatched shelves. It smells of parchment and glue. Some shelves are so tall, that it takes a ladder to climb up and reach. There’s a messy desk in one corner that acts as the pay counter. On it, a glass case full of inkwells, and a container of quills. the bookseller sits in an old worn chair, and behind her, are shelves of rare books and bric-a-brac, with rolls of blank parchment. Ancient tapestries labeled “not for sale” hang up as mismatched curtains over windows. While the shop is cluttered, the books are always organized and meticulously dusted. It’s been run by the same family for generations, and for him, it’s been run by the Devices, the mother and daughter pair. They were wonderful people, both of them. But they were also quite strange. The strange thing about the Devices was that the young Miss Device and her mother had been running the shop for as long as Aziraphale had been around, but neither of them aged a single day, while he grew into a stately young gentleman.

“Afternoon Mr. Fell!” Anathema Device calls, looking up from her chair.

“Afternoon, Miss Device.” He nods, and then proceeds to linger about. As he’s doing so, the little bell chimes once more.

“Good Afternoon, welcome in.” he glances up to see who has entered, but from his position behind a row of shelves he can’t see them.

But what he does see is that the book he wants is right where he left it. “Wonderful…” he’s so happy, he plucks it up and saunters right up to the counter with it.

The bookseller greets him with a cheerful smile, “Wonderful to see you.” she says. She’s pretty, and she has curly dark brown hair, glasses, brown eyes, and a beauty mark. 

“The pleasure is all my, Miss Device.” he says, “How’s your mother?”

“She’s doing just fine.” she replies, “I decided to give her a break from work today, so I’m managing the shop myself.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“A good daughter dotes on her mother.” She replies.

He feels his heart go heavy as he finds his thoughts longingly wandering back to his own mother who is long gone.

“Just this one for you today, Mr. Fell?” she asks. He’s snapped back to reality.

“Oh, yes. Just that one today. I’ve been eyeing it for months.” He replies. He dusts his apron and cravat and loosens his shoulders with a wriggle.

She gives him the total. Immediately his smile melts to a frown. He feels the familiar heat of embarrassment on his cheeks, “On second thought…I’m just going to have to come back for that…”

Miss Device frowns too, “Oh…umm…okay. I’m sorry Mr. Fell. I would help you out but…”

He waves his hand and forces a sad smile, “That’s alright Miss Device. You and your mother depend on this small little business of yours. I can’t expect you to make special accommodations, that’d be selfish of me.” 

That’s when he hears the clatter of coins on the counter, and in his peripheral vision he sees dark clothing leaning against it. “I’ve got the rest. That should about cover it, right Miss?” Aziraphale stiffens. It’s the handsome man from the…

He turns to face him and begins to splutter, “Oh, no please, I can’t let you do that I…”

“Shhhh.” The other says, motioning his hand to mirror the shushing, “It’s really not a problem. Let me.”

“I…no…I really…” the other slides the money towards Miss Device.

“Take it, I insist.” he says. She smiles mischievously, and nods. She counts it up, and then tucks it away in the jar she keeps her daily earnings in.

“There you go.” she thrusts the book into Aziraphale’s hands. He’s takes it stiffly. He’s still flabbergasted as he tightly clutches the thing.

“And these four as well.” the man furthers. Aziraphale watches. Once those have been paid for, the redhead hands them to his younger brother, “Thanks a lot, Miss. Good day~” And he’s whisking out the door with his brother in tow before Aziraphale can catch him. And so, he finds himself chasing after him instead.

“Wait! Please!” He catches up with the brothers huffing and puffing, “How can I ever repay you? Please, I must repay you or I’ll surely die of guilt.”

The bespectacled man smiles, “One condition.” He says.

“O-of course. Anything.” He abruptly closes his mouth, heavily regretting what he’s just said. _What if this stranger asks for...a different kind of payment that’s not money…o-or something horrible or ghastly, or…_

“Promise me we’ll meet again.” he says sincerely.

“P-pardon?”

“Promise me we’ll meet again.” he reiterates.

“Umm, o-of course…Mr. umm….”

“Anthony.” He says, “You can call me Anthony. And you are?”

Aziraphale once again chuckles nervously, “Oh well I…I’m…” he flushes a deeper red. He’s lost his speaking abilities apparently. His hands feel clammy and his head is clouded. _Damn nerves of mine…_

“Ahh! I know! I’ll call you Angel.”

Aziraphale is redder than a fresh strawberry, “Wh-why…Angel?

“Don’t know. Just seems fitting somehow. Ahem. Anyway. I’m sure my brother would like to get home and read his books. And I’ve no doubt that you would too. So, we best be off now. It was nice to run into you again. Farewell, Angel. Come on, boy.” He urges his brother along, and then they turn and walk away. Aziraphale stares after them, counting their steps and feeling a sort of giddy, boyish joy he’s never felt before. And the feeling follows him all the way back home.


	3. Names have Power

~3~

When he goes up the walkway of the house, he’s shocked to find one of the maids running up to him. There are tears in her eyes, a furrow in her brow, and a frown upon her reddened face.

Aziraphale feels an uneasy sting in his chest, and the familiar bubbling of nerves. “Dear lady, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“Oh, Mr. Fell…it’s awful, just awful…loathsome, _terrible!”_ she falls to her knees and clutches the hem of his long coat.

“Get up off the ground, dear. No need for that.” She looks up at him with teary eyes and he offers her a hand up. Once she’s standing, he gently clutches her shoulders and studies her with kind eyes.

“Now. Tell me what the matter is.” 

“I-It’s Master Gabriel, sir. He’s dismissing the household…all of us. Sacked, just like that! We’ve all lived at your family’s home for years and he’s sending us packing!”

_What!?_

“Why on earth would he—"

“We took the day at our leisure, just like you asked of us, Mr. Fell…a-and he said we were being complacent and lazy, and dismissed us!” she says, “We tried to explain to him…but he said th-that you had no authority to give us orders, sir! He said we must be gone by tomorrow or he’ll have us removed by force!”

Aziraphale bristles. “I’ll have a word with him. He has no authority to dismiss my staff.” He draws in a sharp breath and walks passed her, entering the foyer. He finds Gabriel and the others having a laugh in the living room.

“Gabriel!” he exclaims. All gazes turn to him, “Pardon me. A word, please.”

“Not until you give us those goods you’ve brought.” he replies. So, Aziraphale brings the basket, and he’s flocked by impatient siblings. He passes out each item: the hat for Uriel, the hair fork for Michael, the lace for Sandalphon, and the parasol for Gabriel.

“What’s that?” Sandalphon asks, pointing to the book.

“Oh! Well, that’s my book.” The others cast him poisonous glares.

“I-it cost us nothing! I paid for it out of my own pocket.” he replies, “W-well, mostly...”

“Mostly, hmm?” Gabriel raises a brow.

“M-my…friend helped me pay for it…it’s part of a sort of…deal, you see.”

His siblings laugh, “You? Friends?”

“L-look, it doesn’t matter how I got it, I swear it cost you nothing!” he repeats. Then, he plucks the book from the basket and hands the groceries to a nearby servant, “A word, please, Gabriel, sir...i-if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind.” he replies but follows Aziraphale into the study anyway.

Once inside Aziraphale says, “You can’t dismiss the household without my consent!” 

Gabriel chuckles condescendingly, “Actually, I can.”

“With all due respect, you can’t. Not really. This house belongs to my family and since I’m the only one left that means the ownership is mine.”

“Weren’t you saying, just earlier, that your mother was our mother, too, or did I mishear you?” Gabriel replies.

“I did. But then you disowned my— _our_ mother.”

“Yes. And that was out of line. You were right, she adopted us, so that makes us family.” he replies, “In light of that, then, our mother, in fact, both of our parents, are gone. So, naturally, the house goes to the oldest son. Which, last I was aware, was me, not you. So, if anyone doesn’t have authority in this house, it’s you, _little brother._ ” And with that, he leaves the room, and Aziraphale is left standing in the empty office and staring after him. Before he vanishes out the door, Gabriel glances over his shoulder, “By the way, this room needs a good dusting. Get to it.” And then, he’s gone.

-xXx-

From that day on, Gabriel and the others reduced Aziraphale to their lowly servant. They took away his nice clothes and cravats and replaced them with worn-down rags. He wore a stained shirt, trousers with torn up hems, ugly brown shoes, and waistcoat without a watch. He wore an apron around his waist, and a bandanna on his head to keep his curly hair back. He tucked his rings and jacket away, and kept his sleeves rolled to the crook of his arms.

He was forced to do all the housework, and outside work. The tending, cooking, polishing, scrubbing the floors, dusting, cleaning, laundry, sweeping, dishes, mopping, caring for the animals, and all the errands. The skin on his hands and arms became rough, scratched, and dry from hours endless hours of being scrubbed raw with soapy water. His fingertips became calloused, and he lost sensation in some of them because of the burns endured by handling the hot water. His palms were blistered and splintered from carrying heavy baskets.

The defense of Gabriel and the others, they did, at the very least, share their food with him. Or rather, the scraps from their table. His greatest comforts came from the animals, the books he read with what little spare time he had and writing entries in the journal he kept under the floorboards. Sometimes, he thought of Anthony, and his brother, their arrangement…the promise they’d made of meeting again. The book he’d gotten that day he held near and dear to him. He kept it with his diary, for good luck. Whenever he opened that book to read it, his thoughts always wandered to Anthony.

But they were overtaken with melancholy, for he had never seen him again, not since that day. The sound of his voice, and the image of his handsome face became more distant in his memory. The picture became hazy and desaturated. All he had of Anthony was the book, and the entry he’d written in his diary the day they’d met. He began to spin Anthony into this fairytale Prince Charming, and he’d find himself dreaming of him swooping in and taking him away from this wretched place, to happiness…and liberation…

In every dream, they’d meet in a different time, in surreal interactions that only the most imaginative and bookish minds could come up with. But with each passing day, the image, even in the dreams, became less clear. He sometimes found himself questioning if Anthony really had been real, in the first place. He seemed too good to be true, because with the aches and the pains, and the fatigue, everything that was good steadily moved farther away.

_A dream is a wish your heart makes,_

_When you’re fast asleep…_

-xXx-

The clock strikes Midnight as Aziraphale puts the last dish in the drying rack. His hands are raw and stinging from the soppy water seeping into the cuts and tears. They’re wrapped in soggy, soiled bandages, which he tears off and disposes of. He stares at his hands in his out of focus gaze: calloused, red, raw, and dry. He would have to coat them in avocado tomorrow. 

He steps away from the sink and he nearly stumbles over. He catches his balance, bending over the table and drawing in a breath. His entire body feels heavy, and every muscle is tense and screaming for a rest. His head is pounding, and his joints are stiff and sore. He fights for his eyes to stay open. He starts to go for the stairs, but his lead-filled legs, and the iciness of the air make him think twice. He goes back into the kitchen and closes the door. He lies down by the mat in front of the fireplace. He curls into a ball by the dying embers to keep warm, and he falls into a dreamless sleep. 

-xXx-

It seems like he’s barely fallen asleep, when he’s woken up by all four bells chiming at once, and agitated calls echo across the house.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

“A-ZI-RA-PHHAAA-AAALE!”

“AZIRA-FAAA-IL!”

“AZIRAPH-AAA-AAALE!”

He lurches off the mat. “Coming! Coming! One moment! Be there in a moment- two shakes of a lamb’s tail…”

He quickly prepares tea, bringing a tray to each of the respected rooms. He greets them all with a friendly smile, same as he always does, and as usual, he’s met with the same cold reception and dozen orders. _Sweep the floors,_ _mend our pillows, tidy up the rooms, the windows and floors need to be polished and cleaned inside and out…I need this washed tout de suite. And don’t forget to weed the garden, dust everything, polish the silver…again, change the bed clothes, spot clean the couch cushions…polish our shoes, iron the washing…make sure you have three meals prepared ON TIME…and such like._

_“Cinderfella, Cinderfella_

_Night and day, it's Cinderfella_

_Make the fire, fix the breakfast_

_Wash the dishes, do the mopping_

_And the sweeping and the dusting_

_They always keep him hopping,_

_He goes around in circles ‘til he’s very, very dizzy,_

_Still they holla’ and they tella’_

_"Keep a-busy, Cinderfella!”_

-xXx-

Leaving the tea with his demanding housemates, he crosses the house to the kitchen once more to prepare breakfast. As the mouthwatering aromas waft up his nose, he hears his stomach growling. Not a normal stomach growl, but a loud, painful one; the kind that makes you feel sick because your stomach is so empty from not eating. That accompanied by his parched throat and a headache was the familiar feeling he woke up to every morning. He smiles through his pain, humming a tune to get his mind off it. He leaves it to cook, for a bit, and then goes into one room after the other, to help each of them dress and get out of bed.

And soon, every one of them is filing into the dining room, one right after the other. And, as usual, he endures the jibes that start promptly.

“What’s that all over your face?” Gabriel scoffs.

Aziraphale stiffens and reaches up, “Oh, it’s…”

“It’s ash from the fireplace.” Uriel replies. Sandalphon laughs, so does Michael. She laughs her croaky, frog-sounding laugh.

“I’ve got a new name for him,” Sandalphon declares, “Cinderphale.”

“ _Ash_ iraphale.” Michael suggests.

“Cinderphale!”

“Cinderphale. I quite like that~” Uriel agrees.

Gabriel laughs heartily, “You’re too clever.” he says. Aziraphale forces a smile and sets his plate down at the table. At once, the light-hearted joking fades and all glares burn into him like searing fire.

“Who’s this for?” Gabriel asks, “Last I checked, we weren’t…expecting anyone else. Were we lads?” Everyone else agrees with him.

Aziraphale chuckles nervously, “It’s my place.” 

The younger siblings splutter with cruel laughter. _“Your_ place _?”_ Sandalphon echoes.

“He thinks he’s going to eat with us, how sad.” Uriel’s tongue clicks.

Gabriel scoffs, “You really think we’re going to let you eat with us after asking you to prepare our food? You expect too much. Let me make this clear, _you_ are our _servant, we…”_ he indicates the family around the table, “Are your masters. _Servants don’t dine_ with your masters. Servants eat when the work is _done._ Do I make myself clear, _Cinderphale_?” he sneers. Chortles echo across the table.

“Quite.” Aziraphale says softly, frowning deeply, and forcing back the stinging behind his eyes. He turns briskly and goes into the kitchen, hiding his humiliated face as tears spring from his eyes. He goes to set the plate of food down, but his trembling hands cause it to miss and clatter to the floor with a large clash.

_Cinderphale, Cinderphale, Cinderphale, Cinderphale…._

He stiffens and staggers backward. He sinks to his knees. He sees his gaze in the dark, cloudy reflection of the teapot. The color has faded from his face. His large, puffy eyes have become dull and sad, with dark circles formed beneath them. His clothing, hair, and skin are dirty, and streaks of dark black ash stain his cheeks, cracked by meandering tearstains. His “family” had reduced him from a sibling to a lowly creature of ash and toil.


	4. Order and Hierarchy

~4~

Aziraphale finds himself bare backing on his horse, tearing through the woods, running as far away from his house as he possibly could. He’s got his precious book tucked tightly under his arm. The wind buffets his curly hair and evaporates the tears upon his cheeks.

Suddenly, something flies passed him, spooking his horse. She rears up on her hind legs, nearly knocking him off her back. She whinnies in terror. His heart drops to his stomach. He tugs on her mane.

“Woah! Woah, woah, woah, woah! Easy, girl, EASY!”

“Help! Help someone!” Aziraphale snaps his gaze to the direction of the sound. The figure who has torn passed them is struggling to hold onto a horse that is galloping far too fast. “Slow down! Slow down! HALT! CEASE! No! Not that way, you stupid animal!”

“They’re headed towards the river! Come on girl, let’s go help.” he digs his heels into his horse’s side, and they take off to catch up with the renegade rider and steed. They catch up just before they reach the banks. Aziraphale flanks the magnificent horse on its side and reaches for the mane.

“Woah, woah, woah! Whoa, fellow! Whoa!” The horses halt abruptly. Aziraphale manages to hold on, but the next thing he knows, the other rider is flying over his horse’s head and landing in the water with a loud SPLASH! The magnificent, well-dressed steed snorts loudly from its nostrils with irritation.

Dreading what he is about to see, Aziraphale hops off the back of his horse and sprints in the direction that the other landed, “Dear me! Are you alright!?” He kicks of his shoes and wades out to where the other person is sitting up, groaning.

The red hair and dark clothing are very familiar to Aziraphale and his chest swells with joy.

“I hate riding horses…” ‘Anthony’ groans, “But I’m f-“ his face lights up, “Oh! Hello Angel!” he exclaims. But Aziraphale can’t find his words, nor the proper return expression, because he is too captivated by the other’s eyes. They’re a shocking gold color, piercing against the dark red hair and pale face. He wears no hood, and his wet hair has fallen out of its ponytail and strands are plastered against his beautifully sculpted face. His clothing is expensive and nice looking, although it has become slightly translucent from the water. (Aziraphale blushes).

“It’s ahem…good to see you again, Anthony.” Aziraphale smiles and offers a hand up, and they wade back out of the water.

“Pleasure’s all mine Angel.” he replies. They gaze at each other.

“Are you…alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. The water broke my fall, but my clothing is soiled. My sister will have my head for this.” he huffs. He takes off his wet jacket and waistcoat, draping it over a low-hanging tree branch to dry. He pulls the ribbon from his hair and lets it fall in stringy strands about his shoulders. He squeezes out the excess water from the dark red locks and gives his head a little shake to loosen them up. Aziraphale quickly unwraps and rewraps the loosened bandages on his hands while Anthony watches closely.

“What’s wrong with your hands?” Anthony asks.

“Nothing is _wrong_ with my hands!” Aziraphale replies, “I just work with them all the time, so they aren’t in the best condition.” 

“They look painful, do they hurt? I think I’ve got something in my saddlebag that could help them.”

“Oh, no, that’s quite alright. It’s nothing unbearable. They just feel dry and sting sometimes. But thank you.”

“So, what do you do if you don’t mind my asking? I mean obviously you work with your hands but there’s all sorts of things. Are you a farmer? Blacksmith? Carpenter? Woodcutter? Tailor?”

“I’m a humble country bloke, is all. I work at a farmhouse, serving the family that lives there.”

“Do they treat you well at the farmhouse?”

“They…treat me as well as they’re able.’

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about you?” Aziraphale draws the attention away from him to Anthony.

“I live up at the palace. My sister is teaching me her trade.” he replies.

“Oh! So, you’re an apprentice.” 

“Of sorts.”

“And your little brother, how is he?” Aziraphale asks.

“He’s fine. He gets to roam around, and play pretend with his friends all day.” Anthony replies, “I’m a bit jealous. I wish I could do as I please.”

“You and I both…” Aziraphale sighs, “In what little spare time I have, I like to read and write.”

“I’m not much of a reader or a writer, but I do like music and…using my imagination.” Anthony says, blushing, “Although my sister thinks my head is stuck in the clouds. Says it makes me irresponsible.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a broad imagination.” Aziraphale says, “That’s how the best stories get written, and inventions are made.”

“Thanks Angel. That makes me feel better about it. But I’m sorry to hear they don’t treat you well at your house.” 

Aziraphale shrugs, “It is what it is. I’m just grateful I have a roof over my head and food on the table.” And suddenly, with a lurch, he realizes, “Oh, dear me! I best be going…I’ve got too much work at home to lollygag.”

“Right. Okay, well…” Anthony trails off, disappointed, “Shame you have to go so soon.”

Aziraphale dusts off his apron and gets back on his horse, adjusting the book under his arm. In front of him, Anthony perks up, “Maybe we could meet here again, go for a nighttime horseback ride? Tomorrow night, perhaps.”

“Oh, I don’t know…I don’t finish my work until midnight, usually.”

“Midnight’s fine. I can sneak out of the palace, easy. My little brother and his friends know all the secret passageways.” Anthony replies.

“Oh, please don’t do that for my sake. I wouldn’t want you to get caught, you’d be in so much trouble. And…it would reflect badly on the king, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right…” Anthony frowns deeply. 

“That…and…I don’t really think I’d be very good company. I’m too exhausted by then. But I do appreciate the offer, truly.” he smiles sadly. 

“Of course. Any time. I hope we’ll meet again soon, Angel.”

_I hope so too…_ “Take care of yourself, Anthony.” Aziraphale replies, “I’ll see you…” and then he turns and takes off in a steady trot home.

“You too, Angel!” Crowley calls after, “Take care…” he sighs. His horse flares its nostrils again. He looks up at her. She’s staring at him, blinking, long eyelashes flitting like feathers. She nudges him the shoulder with her nose.

“What?” she nudges him again, making him stagger backwards slightly.

“Oi!” he exclaims, “That wasn’t very nice.” She tosses her mane and snorts again. He shakes his head and strokes the side of her snout, peering over his shoulder at the place where Angel had previously been, “He is really something, isn’t he?” he studies her large brown eyes, “Didn’t he look a little sad and worn down to you, or was it just me?” 

Even if she could answer him, she wasn’t able to, because there’s commotion behind him, and the guard, with the Duke in tow come crashing through the trees. The beady-eyed, pale haired man up front is accompanied by another, dark-haired, dark-skinned, and with a calm demeanor. 

“There you are, your majesty—what ON EARTH HAPPENED TO YOUR CLOTHES!? YOU’VE SOILED THEM! YOUR SISTER, THE KING WILL BE MOST DISPLEASED!” the duke exclaims.

“Hastur! Morning to you as well. I got thrown off my horse and landed in the water. I’m fine, thanks.” 

“You ought to back to the castle and change, your Majesty, the king is looking for you, and she’s about lose her temper. We’ve been looking for you all morning.” says the other one, Ligur.

“We didn’t think we’d have to babysit you.” scoffs Duke Hastur.

“Come along, your Majesty.” Ligur finishes, “We best get going.” Crowley sighs and gets back on his horse.

“Right. Of course.” And with that, they turn and head back, tearing through the trees and trotting down the cobbled path to the palace. He was going to hear it when he got home.

-xXx-

The second he’s brought before her he can tell she’s livid. She’s in bed, uncovered. Black hair frames a pale, sickly, stern face, with dull blue eyes and a deep frown. As usual, she’s in her usual black suit, with her red sash, silver emblems, and colorful jabot. Her ankles are crossed in front of her and you can see her netted stocking poking out from the hem of her trousers. Her crown sits neatly on a cushion beside her, and she leans against her mass of pillows. She remains cold and stiff as the doctor attends her. 

“Slipped out, again!” she scolds lowly, raising her voice but not yelling, “That is the fourth time this week! Why Father left me with two irresponsible little brothers is beyond me! You can’t keep doing this, Crowley! You need to take responsibility and start acting like a proper future king!”

“But sister…Beelzebub…” he tries to protest but he’s cut off.

“One day I’m going to be gone and you will be left to lead the kingdom. That’s a scary thought. I don’t trust you with your infuriating irresponsibility. We are getting you a proper suitor no matter what your feeling is on the issue. In two weeks’ time, I am holding a ball, and you will have three evenings to pick your partner. You cannot lead a kingdom on your own, so someone needs to rule alongside you. Someone down to earth and responsible.” 

“A ball!” Crowley groans, “But Sister! Why!?…that sounds terrible…and why do we have to get suitors, hmm? Could I not wed, say…a good, honest country bloke?”

“No, you cannot! Nobles marry other nobles!” says Duke Hastur sharply, “Some lowly commoner isn’t going to know how to run a kingdom nor have a dowry to speak of.”

“We will have the ball whether you like it or not. I am the King, and I make the decisions, not you.” the King growls, “And you will pick your partner by the end of the third night. If you do not, we will select one for you, understand? Although I pity whichever poor soul gets stuck with you…”

_Ouch._

“Uggh. Fine. On one condition.” Crowley proposes, “Extend the invitation to everyone in the kingdom, not just the nobility.”

Hastur and Beelzebub exchange glances. “That would help tremendously with your popularity, Your Highness.”

She nods, “Very well. We’ll do it your way.”

“Great!” Crowley smiles broadly. Then he remembers that the doctor is in the room with them. “How is she?” he’s almost afraid to ask. The doctor exchanges sympathetic glances.

“Well…she’s…”

“Just say it. I don’t have much time left.” Beelzebub scoffs. The doctor shakes their head.

“I am truly sorry, Your Highnesses. There is not much else I can do.”

“Course not. Very well. You’re dismissed. Goodbye.” Beelzebub says coldly. And thus, the doctor picks up their bag and leaves, “And you, Duke. You may leave as well. I need to have word with the Prince in private.”

“Yes, your Highness.” And he’s gone.

“Crowley,” at last her voice softens, she reaches across the duvet and takes his hands with her ice-cold ones.

“Do you understand how important this is? I haven’t got much time, and I’d like to die peacefully knowing that my kingdom won’t fall. You must pick a spouse, Crowley. You’re young and you’re nowhere near ready to lead a kingdom on your own.”

He sighs, “I know…I just don’t like it.”

“Well, neither do I, but we don’t have much of a choice.” she says sternly, “Oh, and one more thing.”

He studies her with deep, gold-brown eyes. “Adam will need someone to be there for him when I’m gone.” she says, “Though I don’t think I have to tell you that, do I? He’s rather fond of you.”

“I may be irresponsible, but that’s one priority I have in order,” Crowley replies.

“Good. Now get to your lessons.” she finishes. Crowley nods, and then turns and leaves the room. 


	5. Sing Sweet Nightingale

~5~

_The pair shaped tool  
Oh, sing sweet nightingale  
Sing sweet nightingale  
High above me_

Aziraphale tries not to wince as he polishes the floor with a rag. Michael is singing again, although…he can hardly call it singing. She isn’t exactly gifted with an angelic voice. She sounds more like a dying animal. He dips the rag in the bucket again and squeezes out the excess.

His hands are dry and stinging again, and his knees are red and sore from kneeling on the hardwood ground. His arm is achy too, from hours upon hours of scrubbing. All around him, bubbles from the soap float up into the air as he continues to clean. To pass the time, he starts to whistle along with the tune, before he opens his mouth and turns the whistling into words.

_Oh, sing sweet nightingale  
Sing sweet nightingale  
High above  
Oh sing sweet nightingale  
Sing sweet nightingale  
High ab—_

He feels a kick to his side that cuts his singing short. He whimpers under his breath and looks up to see who it was. Uriel is glaring down at him.

“If you have enough energy to sing, you’re not working hard enough.” they scold, “ _Get up_.” After another sharp kick, they walk briskly passed again, vanishing into the den once more. Aziraphale lies there for a moment, clutching his sides. Then, he gets up, ignoring the throbbing in his ribs, and continues to scrub the floors and keep his mouth shut. He barely hears someone coming down the stairs. But what he does hear is a loud clatter.

“Oops.” Gabriel’s voice cuts in, half-heartedly. Aziraphale looks up. He’s kicked the broom and dustpan over, and the freshly polished stairs get covered with dirt again, “Make sure to get that when you’re done there.” He sneers, and on his way passed, he leaves a trail of dusty footprints behind. Aziraphale huffs, heavy shoulders sagging as he looks around at the foyer that he must polish all over again. 

-xXx-

The next day, he goes into town for more grocery shopping. He pops into the book shop for a quick browse, in no hurry to get home. He stops by the counter to casually converse with Anathema.

“You don’t look too good, Mr. Fell. Are you alright?” she asks.

He nods, “Yeah, I’m just tired from working, Miss. Though I appreciate the concern, truly.” he replies, forcing a weak smile, “I must admit, the household doesn’t seem to notice.”

“They don’t…treat you well, do they?” through the clear lenses of her glasses, her eyes are wide with concern.

He stiffens and studies her quizzically, “Not…particularly.”

“Why do you stay there if they treat you so horribly? You can stay here at the book shop, with my mum and me if you’d like. We live humbly, and we don’t have much, but we’d treat you better than they do.”

“I really appreciate that offer, Miss Anathema, truly. B-but I can’t leave my house. For generations, my family has lived there and loved that house, and now that everyone is gone, I stay to love it for them. My sib- the Archangels, they could never love the house the way I do…they’re too… _vain._ ”

“I understand. B-but if you change your mind, my mother and I would be happy to let you stay with us.” Anathema says. She’s quiet for a moment, “Oh, by the way, I’ve got something for you. Just a moment.” she bends down and disappears behind the desktop. When she gets back up, she’s got a book in her hands that small enough to fit in someone’s pocket. “I’d like you to have it. Please, just take it, don’t ask questions.” So, he takes it and opens it. The first page is a title page and it reads: “The Nice and Humble Diary of Agnes Nutter”. He opens it. The pages are blank.

“This isn’t just an ordinary diary, it’s a special one.” she says, “You could almost call it…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “Enchanted.”

“Enchanted?” Aziraphale echoes.

“Shhh. You mustn’t tell the whole town of it. But yes. Enchanted. Magical. It belonged to a witch. I would know, because she’s my ancestor.”

He starts to set it down and hand it back.

“Don’t worry. It’s not cursed or anything, I swear it on my life. If you write in it, it’ll give you advice and comfort, all you need to do is pen this phrase:

_“Dearest Diary,_

_I need you quite badly.”_

“Whatever you need, it’ll give you.” she says, “Here. Let me demonstrate.” she dips a quill in ink and writes on the first blank page.

_“Dearest Diary,_

_I need you quite badly.”_

The words dissolve into the parchment and new ones appear in different handwriting. **_“What doth thee needeth of me?”_**

_“Give me a riddle to solve.”_ Anathema writes. The ink once again soaks into the page and disappears. A few moments later, an answer appears. 

**_“…Wherefore is a raven liketh a writing desk?”_ **

“That’s…amazing.” Aziraphale can hardly believe his eyes. Anathema nods and smiles. Then, she writes the answer to the riddle.

_“Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and it is **nevar** put with the wrong end in front. You've used this one before, silly Agnes.” _

**_“Aye, I has't. ‘Tis a fav'rite of mine._ **

**_With Loveth, Agnes”_ **

Anathema closes the diary, “Here. This is yours. My mother and I know that you’ll take good care of her. You could use a friend at home that talks back to you.”

Aziraphale can’t help but be touched by this notion, “That’s very kind of you.” he says, “I’ll cherish this.” He sets it carefully in his basket. Just then, he hears trumpets outside, and a voice calling, “Here ye, here ye!”

“What do you suppose…?”

“No idea,” Anathema gets up from her seat, “Let’s go find out, shall we?” And so, they leave the book shop and gather in the town square with the rest of the people. There’s a messenger of the king on his horse, clearing his throat to make the announcement.

“By order of the King, in two weeks hence there is to be a ball. The festivities will last for three consecutive nights. Her Majesty, the King, has decided to extend the invitation to everyone in the kingdom. At midnight on the third day, the Prince will choose, from the guests, whom he wishes to be united with, in matrimony.” There’s an explosion of cheers and excitement, and Aziraphale feels his heart soar. It would be his chance to see Anthony again.

“Excuse me, Miss Device, but I must be going! The Archangels will be quite thrilled to hear this. Farewell! Hopefully, I’ll see you there!” And he’s gone, galloping on his horseback to the house.

-xXx-

He doesn’t even knock on the double doors of the drawing-room doors, he just barges right in, causing every single one of his siblings to look up from what they were doing.

“I’ve just heard the most wonderful news!” he exclaims, “In two weeks, the king is hosting a ball. Every gentleman, maiden, and everyone in between is invited.” His excitement is contagious, and Sandalphon, Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel begin to talk very animatedly about it, “The Prince will be there as well. And he’s meant to choose a spouse from the assembled guests.”

“Married to the prince?” Gabriel echoes. He turns and addresses his siblings, “Lads, this gives us another chance for a better life than this. The one we deserve. And I’ve four chances! One of us is bound to sweep that prince off his feet.”

Aziraphale can hardly contain himself while he witnesses the Archangels parading and spinning and dancing about the room. He wiggles happily. His face and chest feel warm. Their excitement was almost suffocating.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gabriel cuts off coldly, smile fading as he turns his attention back to Aziraphale, “You’ve said your news now get back into town. Have four new outfits made. Tout de suite.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale feels even warmer, “How very kind of you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“To think of me.”

The other three Archangels burst out in obnoxious, cruel laughter.

“Think of _you_?” Gabriel replies icily.

“He thinks the fourth ensemble is for ‘im!” Sandalphon cackles. Gabriel crosses menacingly, and Aziraphale’s smile and joy fades as he steps back.

“Let me repeat myself and make this clear. Four outfits. One for Sandalphon. One for Michael. One for Uriel. And one for me. Now get going.” He thrusts a bag of coins into Aziraphale’s hands, “And wash your face.”

So, Aziraphale turns and leaves the drawing room for the trek back into town. 

Meanwhile, back at the palace, two certain princes are practicing their dancing skills in the elder one’s quarters.

Once they’ve gone through about the 100th series of six counts, Adam flops down onto the bed to catch his breath. Crowley flops down on the other end, so they’re lying across from one another. They’re laughing wholeheartedly.

Eventually, they both sit up and take drinks from their water goblets.

“I’ve gotta ask, Crowley,” Adam begins, “Did you extend the invitation to the whole kingdom so that you might get the chance to see that gentleman from the town? The one you met again in the forest that you keep going on and on about?”

“It was for the good of the kingdom.” Crowley replies lamely.

“Of course, it was.” Adam scoffs, “But there’s no way your “Angel” has nothing whatsoever to do with this. You can be honest with me, Crowley.” 

“Alright. Alright. Fine. You caught me.” Crowley relents, “I’ve got to see him again. I’m hoping he’ll come. There’s so much more to him, he’s got so much depth…and wit and cleverness and…” Crowley blushes.

“And you’ve _got it bad_ as they say.” Adam says smartly.

“What do you know about love? You’re eleven.” Crowley replies.

“I read a lot of books, remember.” Adam answers.

“Touché.” Crowley says, “But not a word to Beelzebub, got it?”

“I won’t say anything.” Adam confirms.

“And this is why you’re my favorite, Adam.” Crowley chuckles, pinching his cheek. But Adam pushes his hand away.

“Cut it out, Crowley. I’m not a little boy anymore.” Adam groans.

“What, I can’t dote on you?”

“No. I’m getting to old for this.” He says, “But, I’m cheering you on—you go and get that bloke or whatever. But even if he does come…won’t Beelzebub not let that happen? You said yourself she’s strict about you marrying another noble.”

Crowley frowns, but he still tries to be hopeful, “Well, maybe if she sees how charming and lovely he is she might change her mind.”

“I hope so.” Adam replies, “For your sake.”

“Thanks.”

“…Now I’m bored with this dancing, I’m going to go play with my friends in the courtyard. See you later.” the boy gets up and leaves the room. When he’s gone, Crowley falls against his pillow and sighs.

Extending the invitation had everything to do with seeing Angel again. Yes, of course, he cared about the people as much as the next good monarch-to-be…but even so, he cared slightly more about “Angel”. He was determined to find out who he really was.

_  
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly_

_Lavender’s green_

_When I am King, dilly, dilly_

_You’ll be my sweet…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Archangel" is the surname I appropriately picked for Gabriel and the others.  
> *Yes, Agnes talks in very watered down and probably incorrect Shakespearean.


	6. Masks and Lentils

~6~

On the days leading up to the ball, Aziraphale didn’t sleep at all. If Gabriel wouldn’t have an outfit made for him, he’d fix one up himself. He dug an old set out of the oak chest next to his bookshelf. It was a full suit in tan and blue, with a plaid ascot. It needed some touch up, but it would do, nonetheless. But he was so tired, he’d never finish it on time, even if the mice and birds did help him.

It was here that he decided to call upon Agnes for help. So, he takes out his diary and sits up in his uncomfortable bed. He picks up his quill and ink and writes:

_“Dearest Diary, I need you quite badly.”_

The ink disappears and within moments, he gets a response.

**_What doth thee needeth of me?_ **

_“My stepbrother will not have an ensemble made. I found this outfit in a chest, but it needs some alterations. But I’m so busy and tired I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish on time. Do you think you could help me, Agnes?”_

The ink once again disappears into the page. After a few moments, he gets another answer.

**_“Aye I can. I shall giveth the mice, the birds, and the serpent tail'ring abilities so they may finish most carefully upon the hour.”_**

“Thank you.”

-xXx-

And just as promised, one day before the ball, the snake, the mice, and birds had made the ensemble crisp and clean and good as new. When Aziraphale saw this, he was most pleased. He rewarded the animals with extra helpings of supper.

The night before the ball, when he was helping Gabriel retire, he drew in a deep breath and begged his brother to let him go.

Gabriel laughs, thinking he must be joking, “You, Cinderphale? _You_ want to go to the ball? You’re all covered in dust and dirt and ashes. You don’t even have anything to wear. I’m not allowing it.”

“But the King’s orders are very clear, Master Gabriel.” Aziraphale protests, “The invitation was for everyone.”

“Fine. But only if you finish all your chores. We’ll be sure to give you plenty to do.”

“Thank you very much!” Aziraphale exclaims, and then he tucks him in, blows out the candles, and closes the door.

-xXx-

The next morning, all four siblings chatter animatedly around the table while Aziraphale waits on them.

“Cinderphale, come here a moment.” Gabriel beckons him to the table. He obeys.

“Tell him, Sandalphon.” Gabriel addresses his brother.

“I’ve scattered a bowl of lentils into the fireplace for you.” he says, “Along with the rest of your work, and helping us get ready, you must pick them out again in two hours before you can go with us.” Everyone else sniggers. Aziraphale sighs, and then finishes clearing off the breakfast table. He takes the dirty dishes into the kitchen and glances at the fireplace. He can see the glint of hundreds upon hundreds of lentils hidden in the ash. He feels his heart sink. He would never get that done in two hours. So, he pulls his book from his pocket and writes:

_“Dearest Diary, I need you quite badly.”_

The ink disappears and within moments, he gets a response.

**_What doth thee needeth of me?_ **

_“I need to pick all the lentils from the ashes in two hours.”_

**_“Thy siblings' orders art ridiculous. Very well. Bid the serpent to calleth upon the mice and birds once more. They shall holp thee.”_ **

_“Thank you, Agnes.”_

Aziraphale closes the book and tucks it into his apron, and then he goes out into the garden and goes to Crawly’s den. He calls the snake. In response, the little thing pokes his face out of his den, flicking his tongue in and out.

“Will you tell the birds and mice to come and please help me gather these lentils?”

And so, the snake summons the other creatures. He goes to them and says, _“You tame pigeons, you turtledoves, and all you birds and mice in the garden, come help our friend Aziraphale to gather:_ “ _The good ones go into the pot,_ _the bad ones go into our crop.”_

The swarm of birds and the whole nest of mice flying into Aziraphale’s kitchen was a strange sight for Madame Tracy and her husband to witness.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Aziraphale says, and then they all proceed to pick a pick a pick. And all the good grains were put in the bowl to be washed. It takes less than an hour. To thank them, Aziraphale rewards the birds and the mice and the serpent by giving them his small portion of breakfast. While they’re sharing the food, he washes all the good lentils in the sink, and leaves them on the table. He tidies up the kitchen. When he’s done, he dries off his raw hands and rewraps them in fresh bandages. He takes the bowl and presents it to the others.

“How the hell did you manage to pick out a whole bowl of lentils is less than an hour!?” Sandalphon demands.

“Gabriel, this simply, won’t do.” Michael furthers, “Surely you aren’t really going to let him come with us now?”

Gabriel looks thoughtful for a moment. Aziraphale’s heart sinks. “Bring me another bowl of lentils, Cinderphale.” he orders. Aziraphale does as he’s told with concern. When he brings them back, Gabriel nods to Michael and Uriel. Each of them takes a bowl.

“Follow us.” Uriel orders. They go into kitchen, and then dump the contents of each bowl back into the fireplace.

“You have one hour to dig all this out. Then you must help us get ready. If you can’t get this done in one hour, you can’t go.”

“Well that’s…th-that’s unfair, and cruel! You’re going back on your word, that’s not—”

“Life is unfair, Cinderphale.” Uriel says gruffly, “Get picking.” And then Michael and Uriel strut out of the kitchen laughing cruelly.

“He’ll never be able to get all of that done.” Michael says.

Aziraphale goes after them, and then goes back into the garden. He finds Crawly, “I’ll make a special luncheon for all of you if you help me again.” he says.

And so Crawly went to pass the message to the other animals a second time: _“You tame pigeons, you turtledoves, and all you birds and mice in the garden, come help our friend Aziraphale to gather:_

_“The good ones go into the pot,_

_The bad ones go into our crop._

_Do this quickly and you’ll each get a pop.”_

-xXx-

This time, they finish in thirty minutes. Aziraphale leaves the bowl of clean lentils on the counter and checks the time. It’s nearly lunch and he has not yet started his usual chores. He barely has time to get started when the servant bells are ringing, and his family is demanding lunch. He’s behind, and he has extra to do. He feels some of his optimism fade.

While preparing lunch, he burns his hand on the hot water. He hisses with pain and jerks it back as the seething redness envelopes his skin. He rushes over to the sink and runs it under cold water. Amidst the flitting about, his elbow knocks the bowl of lentils all over the floor.

“Oh, no _! No!_ Why does this happen!? I’ve spent an hour and a half cleaning all this up!” he bites his lip and forces away the stinging behind his eyes. He reaches into his apron pocket for fresh bandages, wraps his hand, and goes back to fixing up lunch. As promised, he serves the animals, and then goes into the dining room to serve Gabriel and the others.

“So, how are those lentils coming?” Gabriel sneers.

“I’ve finished them…but…” he averts his gaze.

“But what?” Gabriel demands.

“Nothing…” he replies, “I did what you asked. May I go?”

“Sandalphon, go into the kitchen and see.” Gabriel says. And so, he does, when he returns, he’s looking cruelly amused. “He’s knocked the lentils from the counter.”

Everyone bursts out laughing.

“Stupid and clumsy!” Michael squawks.

“You pathetic excuse for a servant.” Uriel adds.

“Bring me seconds. Tout de suite.” Gabriel thrusts the bowl into his hand. He gathers the dish and goes back into the kitchen. On his way, Sandalphon makes a point to trip him. He staggers, nearly spilling what little scraps are left on the plate. He gets Gabriel seconds and returns setting the plate down in front of him. The second he does, Michael beckons him over to her place.

Once he’s there, she takes lukewarm tea and splashes it onto his face. He goes stiff. The liquid drips off his eyelashes and onto his front. “This tea has gone cold, make me another cup!” The laughter gets louder. Aziraphale plucks the teapot from her place and scurries into the kitchen, averting his gaze.

-xXx-

The household is twice as demanding today, and he is severely behind. To make matters worse, he has to drop what he is doing to help them all prepare for the ball.

“Comb my hair and do it up nicely!” says Michael.

“Iron my coat!” orders Uriel.

“Help me into my stockings and tighten my corset!” Sandalphon demands. 

“Shine my shoes three times over.” Gabriel adds.

-xXx-

By the time he finishes, the carriage is already at the front door. He is exhausted and dirty, with no time to change.

“Aww, what a pity.” Gabriel mocks, “You’re not ready to go. Looks like you won’t be coming with us tonight.” And then, he turns his back on Aziraphale and he and his siblings parade out of the house with their noses turned up. The door slams behind them. He feels his tears pricking again, but he wipes them away. At least he’d be able to bathe in peace and get to bed early. There were two more nights of the festivities, anyway, and for that, he was grateful.

When he sinks his sore body into the warm water, he feels some of the stiffness fade away. And he embraces the feeling with open arms, enjoying the serenity. When he’s gotten out and dressed in clean clothes, he makes himself dinner, before going up to the attic again and writing in his diary.

_Dear Diary,_

_I didn’t make it to the ball tonight, but tomorrow I certainly will. I’m lucky there’s three nights of festivities._

_-A.Z. Fell_

He also writes to Agnes too. He tells her thank you. She responds with, “You’re welcome.” And then he closes both journals, reads for a half-hour, and goes to sleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the ball, Crowley remains checked out at the introduction of each of the potential suitors. Duchess Carmine Zuigiber, Lord Raven Sable, noble Gwyn White…Gabriel Archangel and his siblings, Sandalphon, Uriel, and Michael…all the names fuse together and go in one ear and out the other.

He’s too busy scanning the mass of people for one Angel. His brother appears periodically to give him updates. No sign. He sighs sadly.

“Hey, you’ve still got two days, right?” Adam says, “He’s bound to show up at least once.”

“Thank you.” Crowley smiles weakly, dodges some suitors, and goes in the corner to drink expensive alcohol alone. Periodically, Ligur and Hastur show up to ask, “Found anyone yet?” And the answer is always no.

The second night, Crowley’s spirits are up again. Masquerades are always fun. He’s clothed in fine black and gold in an intricate rococo style. He’s wearing a shimmering black half mask that looks like a scaly demon. He glances around wearily and sips on red wine.

All he sees around him are finely dressed figures in intricate costumes, covered in masks of different animals and creatures. It all feels and looks like a fantasy to him. All of them, with their paper faces and over-decorated clothing converse and laugh, taking no notice of him. Well, many are over-decorated, but most of the townsfolk are dressed tastefully, and in masks that are lovely and carefully painted. He sees all sorts of creatures: cats, birds, goats, rodents, fae creatures, ghouls, goblins, plague doctors, angels, devils, butterflies, lions….he sees classics like jesters and harlequins, and people who chose just to wear masks with patterns, decorations, and feathers instead. There are masks of many variations, half, and whole, and half-faced like the Phantom of the Opera.

No one has approached him yet. And he’s glad that he’s been allowed to hide his face so the other paper faces and world may never find him. He glances around, all he sees is masks and masses of people. And again, there is not a sign of his wonderful Angel.

Four other angels approach him. He finds them vain and haughty and so with a swish of his black cape, he turns his back on them. And then he quite literally runs into someone else.

“Oh, pardon me!” says the other. Crowley swears he recognizes the voice.

“No, it was my fault—” he replies to the stranger. His suit is all in white and ivory, and intricately rococo. The details are gold buttons and hems and adornments, a ruffled jabot, and the coat reaches the hem of his breeches, stopping just above his stockings. He is wearing a white mask adorned with gold, reminiscent of an angel, with a long piece covering his nose like a beak. It is made entirely of feathers, which spread out like wings at the top. He can’t tell who the person in the mask is, although he seems familiar. Although the whole point of the mask was not to know. It’s the eyes beneath the mask that are the most familiar. He thinks its too good to be true, and he speaks before he can think.

“Angel, is that you?”

The other presses a finger to his lips and murmurs a gentle, “Shh.” But he nods his head nonetheless.

Crowley’s face lights up. "Would you like to dance?" he asks him hopefully.

"I'm a bit clumsy on my feet but I wouldn't mind." Aziraphale replies. 

"Great! Excuse me for one second. I've something to take care of. Stay right there, feel free to help yourself to anything on the tables..." he quickly disappears into the crowd and pulls Adam aside. 

"Can you tell the Duke and Beelzebub that there's no need to stop the whole ball for me to pick a dance partner? That I've already chosen one?" 

"Is it...?"

"Yes. Hurry~ before they embarrass me." Adam nods briskly and sends a butler up to pass the message up to the king. And to Crowley's relief, the welcome speech doesn't end with Hastur announcing that Crowley is supposed to pick a partner in front of everyone, but instead it ends with the music starting. 

Crowley takes Aziraphale by the hand and they disappear into the sea of masks. They waltz together for most of the night and have dessert, but his dance partner is gone before the clock strikes twelve.

* * *

Earlier that day, Aziraphale had asked Agnes if she could give him a masquerade costume. He wanted to save his special ensemble that he and the animals had worked on together for the final night. He’d slipped off to the ball after Gabriel had gone, riding his horse to get there promptly. Agnes had offered the carriage, but Aziraphale politely declined, deciding that riding on the back of his faithful steed would get him there quicker. To avoid her being recognized, Agnes had turned her from a dapple gray to a cream and white palomino. 

Nor Gabriel or the others recognized him. He was masked, for one, and secondly, he looked so lovely and different that they couldn’t possibly put him on the same tier as a lowly servant. They thought he was some foreign prince. He had a wonderful time, dancing and eating and drinking.

He’d stayed just long enough and gotten to dance with Anthony. He came home giddy and joyful, feeling warm inside. He sighed against his scratchy pillows and told his diary about how wonderful of a night he had had. And again, he thanked Agnes. 


	7. Tickety, Tockity, Boo!

~7~

At long last, it is the final evening of the ball, and Aziraphale is ready to show himself, with his special suit and all.

While Aziraphale is in the attic getting dressed and combing his hair, Gabriel hears the carriage pull up. He swaggers out into the foyer, where the other three are waiting. When he sees them, his face lights up. All of them, himself included, are perfectly coordinated, and, he thinks, looking more stunning than they had the first two nights.

“My wonderful siblings,” he gawks. They smile at him, beaming, “We may not have been too lucky the first two nights, but third time is a charm as they say, and one of us may yet snare that red-haired prince. I don’t think anyone is going to outshine us.”

“Ahem.” A voice cuts in. Immediately, all eyes turn to see Aziraphale coming down the stairs in his tan and blue suit.

“Cinderphale.” Gabriel says.

“It cost you nothing.” he says, putting out a hand.

“ _Ooo la~_ ” Uriel mocks, “Cinderphale at the ball.” Michael giggles. 

“No one wants a servant for a husband.” they scoff.

Gabriel frowns deeply, “After everything I’ve done—”

“I don’t want to ruin anything. I just want to go and meet a friend…”

“You won’t ruin anything. Because there’s no question if you’re going or not. You’re not.”

Aziraphale frowns, “But everyone in the land is invited. By order of the King.”

“It’s the king I’m thinking of,” Gabriel replies, “It would be an insult to the royal personage to take you to the ball dressed in these…old rags.”

“Rags? Beg your pardon? I’ve kept this safe for years…it’s been passed down through generations.” Aziraphale replies.

“Well, sorry to have to tell you, but your family has questionable taste.” Gabriel begins to cross towards the stairs, looming, “This thing is so old-fashioned, it’s practically falling apart.” he seizes the sleeve of the jacket and tears.

“Oh, look the shoulder’s frayed.” he says.

“Dear me-“

Uriel tears the ruffles from the front of the shirt.

“No, please—” 

“It’s falling to bits.” Uriel scoffs.

Michael violently rips the sash from the front. “Wait, you can’t—”

Sandalphon tears a cufflink and the other shoulder. And then, immediately, he, Uriel, and Michael are on him, pulling and tugging and tearing, shredding the jacket and waistcoat with rough hands, ripping the hem of the trousers, clawing at the adornments and buttons, and ignoring Aziraphale’s whimpering pleas. Uriel chokes him ripping off the jabot and brooch.

Two of them wrench the jacket from his shoulders and rip off the flowy sleeves of the shirt underneath, nearly yanking his arm out of socket. Then, Uriel and Michael tackle him to the stairs. His head thumps against the wood, and he curls up and shields his face, forcing back tears as they continue to ruin the outfit. Once they’ve shredded the fabric, they proceed to physically attack him, scratching and kicking and pulling his curly hair.

He whimpers “Please, oh please stop…I’m sorry…please…” in a pitiful voice.

“That’s enough! You’ve made your point.” Gabriel finally cuts in. They pull away, leaving Aziraphale sill curled in a fetal position, “Now go on, run along. I won’t have you two upsetting yourselves further. You too, Sandalphon.” As they’re headed out the door, Aziraphale feels Gabriel’s icy glare upon him.

“Goodnight.” he sneers, and then he turns and leaves, slamming the front door behind him. And all Aziraphale does is curl further into himself, hugging his knees. He tightly screws his eyes together as silent, seething tears dribble down his cheeks. 

He doesn’t notice that a book has fallen from his pocket and opened. However, he suddenly becomes aware of the warmth of someone, comforting him in a motherly way, running their hand through his hair, and he is lying on a lap covered in satin robes.

“There, there, my dear…’tis alright now. Agnes is here now…” he stiffens. He sniffles and slowly looks up with puffy red eyes. He slides away from her. She’s got warm, kind eyes, a bushy head of brown hair, and a simple brown dress.

“B-beg your pardon?” 

“’tis me. Agnes Nutt'r. Thee knoweth. The one you’ve been talking to, asking for holp. Is that not right, Aziraphale?” she says. Her voice is deep and warm too, with a bit of rasp to it.

“You’re, you—”

“I has't been living within the pages of that diary for many a year, waiting for the day at which hour someone hast desperate need of me. And thee most certainly doth. Thee weepeth.”

“Well, what do you expect? Of course, I’m crying! Just look at the state of my lovely suit…I was going to wear this to the ball tonight but now I can’t…my siblings shredded this, and I’ve just been beaten…”

She presses a finger to her lips, “Tush tush, my dear. Thee shalt go to the ball tonight. All we might not but doth is freshen thee up and giveth thee a carriage. Come. Dryeth thy drops of sorrow.” She pulls a kerchief from her bodice and hands it to him. He takes it slowly, pats his tears away, and blows his nose while she rubs his back. 

“B-but how is that possible? You’re just a book that writes back...” Aziraphale replies.

“Thou thinketh so little of me.” she says, “Nay. Mine soul merely liveth in this booketh. ‘Tis preferred, o’er this drab dram world. But, I cannot standeth to seeth thee weep. So, I hath decided to cometh out and holp thee. I am thy fairy godmother.”

“What do you mean? I don’t have a fairy godmother. A-and the book was given to me by Miss Anathema Device, so you can’t really be _my_ fairy godmother. If anything, you’re hers.”

“Nay, I am her ancestor. There is a difference. Ah. Mine Anathema, valorous girl. She worried for thee. And a lusty bachelor with hair a crimson flame cameth to her and did express his worries as well.”

Aziraphale perks up. _Anthony?…but how did he…?_

“…So, she called upon me for holp. She gaveth mine diary, and mine soul to thee just as I instructed.” she explains, “Anon. Doth thee wanteth to wend to the ball or not?”

“W-well, o-of course I do. I…but I can’t possibly…you’ve already gave me an outfit for the masquerade it wouldn’t be right of me to ask for another one…”

“Nonsense. Tush, tush. ‘Tis fine. I want to holp thee. Sayeth thy right words and thee shalt go.”

Aziraphale sighs and sniffles, “If you insist. Dearest Diary, I need your help quite badly…”

“What doth thee needeth of me?” she asks, looking at him with dark eyes.

“I need this suit to be mended so I can go to the ball.” he replies.

“And a carriage and suit you shall have. Cometh. Timeth is short.” she says. And then she turns and whisks towards the garden with him trailing behind, rubbing his eyes so he can figure out if he’s dreaming.

-xXx-

Out in the garden, she proceeds with several strange requests. A pumpkin, from which she waves her hand and makes a white carriage adorned with gold. The mice, which she turns into four fine white steeds. She turns Crawly into a footman who looks suspiciously like a certain “lusty bachelor” and turns the horse into a driver. 

She steps back to admire her handiwork.

“It’s…wonderful…” Aziraphale says, smiling brightly, “But…”

“Anon. Off thee go.” Agnes replies, “Apace. Hence.”

“But Agnes! Dear lady, I can’t go in these clothes…they’re in tatters…”

“Heavens! Of course, thee cannot.” she replies, “One moment…” She examines the tattered suit, thinks to herself, “Hmm…what were those words again…Ahh, aye! Tickety. Tockity. Boo!” Shimmering white birds appear and flit towards Aziraphale. They start at his feet and then begin to circle his body. Sparkling flecks of gold, blue, and white magic dust trail behind them, slowly transforming his tattered clothing into an astonishing. Everything becomes a shimmering, angelic white flecked with gold-- the breeches, coat, shirt. The waistcoat is gold. The lapels, cuffs, and epaulettes on the shimmering tailcoat are gold too. It is adorned with silvery blue embellishments that match the ascot and the slightly translucent shoulder drape. Even the features on his face are enhanced with shimmery highlight.

“Thee behold lovely. Turneth about so I may admireth the swish of thy coattails.” he smiles and does. The drape on his shoulder swishes about his ankles.

“Stunning. Anon. Apace, thee wanteth not arriveth tardy.”

Crawly the footman opens the golden door of the carriage and offers Aziraphale a hand so he can step up onto the white steps.

“Aye me! I nearly forgot thy shoes!” with another flick of her hand, the normal colonial shoes become shimmering glass. Aziraphale looks down.

“Glass slippers?”

“Thou art welcometh. Oh! A simple spelleth!” she flicks her hand, and the magic dust passes over his face. He sneezes. “Thy siblings shall not recognizeth thee.”

“Thank you so very much Agnes.” He says, sitting down in the comfortable seat while Crawly closes the door on him.

“And one more thing. The spelleth shall breaketh at which hour the horologe strikes midnight.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Aziraphale smiles broadly. And with that, the carriage takes off, wheels rattling against the dirt road as the mice-turned-horses gallop to the ball. He glances out the window behind him and waves to Agnes as she disappears, turning into dust on the wind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here's Agnes and her bad Shakespearean lol. I tried people.


	8. The Ball

~8~

Crowley was in the corner being a wallflower again. He was lucky he had managed to escape for a moment. The towering ceilings and walls of the palace echo with the laughter and conversation of the assembled crowd. Music plays faintly in the background, and the air smells of wine, smoke, savory food, and rich desserts. It’s hot and stuffy in here. He tugs at the collar of his stiff coat in his black, red, and gold-accented suit. His gold eyes dart frantically for a very specific person. No sign of him. He sighs. At this rate he was going to end up with the exact type of person he didn’t want to marry.

Adam approaches and tells him that they have climb up on the second level of the ballroom so they can start the dancing again.

_Great. Third time is **not** a charm. _Crowley thinks bitterly. He knows he’s going to have to endure selecting a partner a third time, without any funny business. The first time, he’d picked Adam, and the second time he’d avoided it because he’d run into Angel beforehand.

Hastur’s voice silences the crowd, “The Prince will now have the honor of choosing his dance partner for the final time.” he declares. And immediately, the ballroom fills with silence, and Crowley feels hundreds of eyes on him. He shuffles uncomfortably. He tries to avoid their gazes. Suddenly, the doors burst open. All gazes turn to see the figure who has just come in. They perceive a lovely foreign prince in sparkly white and gold clothing, accented with blue, with curly white-blonde hair and shimmering cheeks.

Even from a distance, Crowley recognizes the stature, build, and curly hair. When they meet gazes and smile at each other, the recognition is further confirmed. His face lights up. Angel’s already lovely appearance was amplified one hundred times over. And the next thing he knows, he’s making his way eagerly down the stairs, and Angel is coming towards him. The sea of people part, as if Moses himself had parted them. The only sound that fills the room is the click-clack of shoes echoing on the smooth floor. When they stop and face each other, Crowley feels as though he is going to burst with joy. Now, it was absolutely confirmed. Who would have known that Angel too, was a prince in disguise? If he said yes, he’d have his spouse.

“Angel.” he says softly, “You look just like one.” 

Blush covers shimmering, pale cheeks, “My prince.” Aziraphale replies, smiling ridiculously, “Anthony. But I doubt that’s your real name, is it?”

Crowley shakes his head, “No.” he tells him, “It’s Crowley.”

“Well, Crowley. It’s nice to properly meet you.”

“Would you, errm…like to…”

“Dance?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale glances warily around the ballroom. The eyes are burning into him. He shuffles uncomfortably.

_Start the music!_

“I’d be delighted, An- Crowley.” He replies. He feels the warmth of a hand gently grip around his waist. He draws in a deep breath, frowning nervously. But Crowley’s sweet smile and lovely golden eyes reassure him. They begin to move with music. Step forward. Step back. Turn. Aziraphale smiles nervously, but then frowns again.

“They’re all staring at us…” he says. 

“Because they’ve never seen anyone so stunning.” Crowley replies gently.

He leads Aziraphale in a turn. His blue drape and the tails of his coat swish about him as he moves. Crowley’s hand finds his back again, and they take a few steps forward. Turn. Crowley’s wrist goes under Aziraphale’s, and for a moment the prince feels a rapid pulse. Shaky hands lift and fall like delicate wings, twice, thrice, before Aziraphale is spun again. There’s a series of turns and spins, fingers brushing, hands touching and parting with each, so that the crowd can see the swish of the shimmering blue drape and the dark crimson ponytail on the back of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale in, so his hand is placed firmly upon his back. Aziraphale draws in another breath when he touches Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley hasn’t stopped smiling, and the gold lights reflect beautifully in his gold eyes. The catchlights shimmer in Aziraphale’s doe-shaped pools.

Heartbeats echo in their ears and chemistry flows through them like a blue-green river.

They continue to swish, step, chasse, and move with the gentle music, and with each step, Aziraphale feels a little more comfortable.

The moon and stars glint beautifully in through the windows around them, illuminating them as they twirl lightly around the dance floor. Everyone else vanishes around them. And so does the clock.

At one point, they switch, and Crowley becomes the one being led into turns and spins and chasses and steps. The gold flecks in his white suit shimmer in the light of the ballroom.

Crowley’s heart soars, and the world vanishes around as he melts into feelings. This warmth and this sincerity, which couldn’t be given, he knew, by anyone else but Angel to him. The flames in his heart dance in the air and become butterflies, flitting away from the fire and into the air.

The knots in Aziraphale’s stomach fully uncurl and the butterflies vanish in the air, through Crowley’s eyes and his touch. Their clammy hands together and his permanent smile, and the heart beats as one makes him feel the same boyish joy he’d felt the day they’d met, only this time…it is much stronger than before. Through the dance he finds himself embracing it.

But then the song ends. The butterflies turned to dust as the feeling of closeness is severed when they step away and bow to one another. He becomes aware of everyone staring again.

Then the crowd explodes with cheers. And Aziraphale and Crowley beam in each other’s smiling glow.

-xXx-

The next dance starts, but after a few measures, Crowley leads him from the dance floor towards the food tables.

“Have you eaten today?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale’s stomach growls.

“Not much.” he replies. Crowley picks up a fine china plate and hands it to him, “Then allow me to tempt you to some delicious hors d’oeuvres and desserts.” he says. Aziraphale chuckles.

“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale replies, going to each table and getting small samples of everything. A butler comes to his side, causing him to jump and nearly drop his plate.

“Pardon me, sir.” says the butler, who is carrying a tray of sparkling wine.

“N-no it’s quite alright.” Aziraphale replies.

The butler picks up a glass, “Would either of your majesties care for a drink?” he asks. Aziraphale feels guilt surfacing at the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like being mistaken for a prince. It felt dishonest.

“No thanks.” Crowley replies, “Not for me.” he meets eyes with Aziraphale, “How about you?”

“I don’t mind if I do.” Aziraphale replies, taking the cup, “Thank you very much.”

“You are most welcome, sir.” he dips his head and excuses himself.

Crowley calls another butler over. This one has mineral water glasses. He plucks two of them off the tray and dismisses him.

“Why don’t we get some air?” Crowley suggests, “We have a nice back courtyard that’ll be cool and quiet.”

“I’d love to.” Aziraphale replies. He picks up Crowley’s small dessert plate in his other hand, and together they make their way outside. 

-xXx-

Outside, the evening his cool and clear. Stars glitter beautifully in the sky, and the lights from the palace illuminate the cobbled paths, magnificent stone fountain, and hedges.

“So, Crowley, how come you didn’t tell me you were the prince?” Aziraphale asks.

“I thought you’d treat me differently if you knew.” he replies, “I don’t like being put on a pedestal, bowed to, and called “your majesty” or “your highness” or whatever by everyone. Sometimes I just want to have a normal conversation without the class division.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Aziraphale replies. He takes a small bite of a pastry and blots his mouth with a cloth napkin, “…So. If you’re the prince that means you aren’t an apprentice.”

“I still am,” Crowley replies, “Learning how to lead a kingdom is just another form of apprenticeship. There’s also plenty of lessons like German, French, dancing, fencing, the violin, piano, etiquette… _bleh_.”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Dancing and piano don’t sound too terrible.”

“Dancing isn’t miserable. Although, I’d rather listen to music or run around playing catch with Adam all day. Just be able to do what I want, you know?”

“Believe me, I understand.” Aziraphale sighs. He takes a sip of wine and washes down with bubbly water. 

There’s a short silence. They listen to the breeze quietly whisper through the trees and foliage.

“I just remembered, Angel, I don’t know your name.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale replies, “Right. I’m—”

He’s cut off by a yippy bark. They both turn to the direction of the sound. A nicely dressed Prince Adam is running out into the night, with four other noble children the same age as him following closely behind. Two other boys and a girl looking rather fed up with her poufy dress, running with the skirt hiked up so she doesn’t trip. 

“Urrgh! Curse this dress!” she exclaims sharply.

“Oi!” Crowley calls, “What are you lot doing?” he asks. They stop in front of him.

“Same as you.” Adam replies, stopping in front of them, his friends skidding behind him, so they don’t run into him, “Getting out of the crowded ballroom.” The dog sits obediently in front of Aziraphale and looks up at him with a cocked head and big eyes.

Adam tugs on the leash, “No Dog! No begging!” The dog walks back to Adam with its head hung and plops down beside him to pout.

“Sorry about that.” Adam says, “And hello again.”

“You look very nice.” says the bespectacled boy behind him. Aziraphale blushes lightly and smiles.

“Why, thank you.” Aziraphale answers, “You all look nice as well.”

The girl scoffs, “I appreciate it. But I really hate wearing dresses.” Aziraphale doesn’t exactly know how to respond. Personally, he thinks that wearing a dress wouldn’t be all that bad. Crowley agrees but neither of them know the other feels the same way. 

“I’m Adam by the way, and this is Bryan, Wensleydale, Pepper, and Dog.” the young prince introduces them all.

“Lovely to meet you.” Aziraphale greets warmly.

“Crowley,” Pepper says, “If you’re really going to do this whole romantic fairytale prince bit, you should take Prince Charming there to the secret garden.” (While she was not at all a fan of any kind of mainstream prince and princess fairytale story, she held a firm belief that a prince should fall in love with another prince and leave the princesses to be strong, independent women.)

Aziraphale and Crowley blush crimson. 

“Pepper!” Wensley exclaims, “It’s not secret anymore since you’ve just told him about it!”

“A garden sounds…lovely.” Aziraphale says.

“You’d really be alright with me taking him to your fortress?” Crowley asks, looking at Adam for confirmation.

“It was yours before you gave it to me.” Adam says, “You have just as much right to it as the court of the Kingdom of Them do. As the King of the Them, I hereby grant you permission.”

“Thanks, Adam.” Crowley expresses his gratitude.

Aziraphale feels warm and fuzzy inside. He gazes at Crowley. _Charming and a wonderful big brother…_ He blushes a deeper red. He tries to distract himself.

“Pardon me, the “Kingdom of Them”?” he echoes.

The kids look at him, “It’s what we call ourselves. The four of us, we have our own special kingdom where we can do whatever we want.” Bryan says.

“Adam is the King, Wensleydale is the Grand Duke, I’m the Advisor, and Bryan is a Knight. Dog is a palace guard.” Pepper explains.

“It’s part of a game we made up.” Adam adds.

Aziraphale beams, “What a creative imagination you all have. Splendid.”

“It was Adam’s idea originally.” Wensley replies, “He comes up with the best ideas.” 

“Well, Angel, what do you think? Would you like to pay a visit to the Kingdom of Them?” Crowley asks.

“I’d be happy to.” Aziraphale replies. He turns back to the kids, “It was lovely talking to you all.” he tells them. They respond with statements of the “likewise” variety. After saying their goodbyes, Aziraphale and Crowley get up from the fountain, leaving their plates but taking their drinks. Crowley offers Aziraphale an elbow, which he takes. On their way, Crowley smiles over his shoulder with a joyful, excited expression and they offer their support and encouragement.

-xXx-

A serene quiet stays between them as they listen to the music of crickets and walk over a rickety little bridge with a creek below. The freezing water drafts even colder air up towards them. They follow the meandering body of water down towards the back of the courtyard and the castle grounds farthest from the magnificent structure itself. There is a tall wall of hedges and wedged between is a wooden door.

It opens with ease, revealing the secret garden inside. It is enclosed within the hedge and ivy-covered walls, complete with lush green grass, several bushels of flora, and a wooden swing on a massive oak tree. The stream continues through it, beneath thick foliage that covers a different opening. A hole has been hollowed out in the tree trunk. It was big enough for an eleven-year-old to squeeze through. It is covered by a velvet drape. A treehouse has been built too, and a rope ladder swings idly in the night breeze on the branch opposite the one that the swing hangs from.

“It’s wonderful.” Aziraphale smiles.

“I used to come here all the time when I was young. But of course, I outgrew this place and gave it to my brother. Although I still like to come here at night and sit on the swing. “Speaking of, would you like a go on it?”

“Oh, well, I uhh…” the swing creaks loudly in the wind.

“Please. I insist. It’s perfectly sturdy, I promise. It isn’t going to break.”

So, Aziraphale gives into his desire and sits down on the wooden plank. The ropes creak again, but that’s all. Crowley comes behind him. He’s pulled the swing back and let go of it, giving Aziraphale a gentle push. He kicks his legs outward and then bends them inwards when the swing swings back. For a while, he sits there and lets Crowley push him. His touch sends a gentle shiver down his spine. The increase in the vigorous movements of the swing is mirrored by the beating of their hearts.

When he swings forward again, his shoe slips off, landing gently in the grass. Crowley stops the swing and comes around the front. He gets down to his knees and picks up the shimmering shoe and examines it.

“It’s made of glass…”

Aziraphale blushes, “Well, yes, I…the person responsible for the creation of this outfit was very insistent on these.”

“Well, I quite like them.” Crowley replies. Then, he gently grasps Aziraphale’s stocking-covered ankle and slips the shoe back on.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale says.

“Mind if I join you on the swing?” Crowley asks.

“Is it strong enough to hold us both?”

“Yeah. This swing gets new ropes pretty often. Although I think we’re planning on upgrading to chains soon.” Crowley replies. And so, Aziraphale scoots over and Crowley sits down beside him. They brush shoulders. And then they swing together in friendly company.

“So, Angel. Can you tell me who you really are?” Crowley asks, “What’s your real name?”

He draws in a deep breath, “My name is—” They’re interrupted with the sound of the clock. Aziraphale stiffens abruptly. He remembers Agnes’s words. _You idiot!_ He exclaims. _You let time slip away from you! You need to get out of here._

He stops talking. Crowley’s brow furrows with concern, “Are you alright?”

“I have to leave. I’m so sorry!” he gets up off the swing, “It’s hard to explain, umm…snakes and mice and pumpkins and things…” he turns abruptly and takes off.

“Wait!” Crowley calls after him, “Where are you going?”

“You’ve been awfully nice! And your brother and his friends are such charming, bright children! Thank you for a wonderful evening. I loved it! Every second! Goodbye, Crowley! Until we meet again!” and then he’s fleeing the palace. He pays no mind to the fact that the kids have dropped what they’re doing to stare at him. He sprints back from whence he came. He pushes through the crowd, muttering apologies and excuse me’s. And on his way towards the doors, he bumps into the king herself.

He gasps.

“Young man?” she starts, looking confused.

“Y-your Majesty! I am so very sorry, I—”

“It’s alright, lad.” she says.

He quickly passes her and then turns around again, “I wanted to say, your Majesty, your brother Crowley is the most lovely person I ever met—so kind and wonderful…I-I hope you know how much he loves you. E-excuse me!” He turns and vanishes out the palace doors.

His blood pounds in his ears and his kitten heels click across the floor as he sprints, working up a bit of a sweat. He runs out the palace doors and flies down the staircase. In the process, one of his glass shoes falls off. He stops.

“Oh dear!” he exclaims. The shoe bounces a few steps, before landing perfectly unbroken. He’s about to go and pick it up, when he hears Crowley calling,

“Wait! Wait!” He’s at the top of the steps, with his hair disheveled from the sprint. Aziraphale takes off the other shoe and continues down the rest of the way.

“Hurry!” he calls to the driver and the footman, “Please hurry!”

“Come back!” Crowley calls, “Where are you going?” The footman slams the door and hops onto the back of the carriage. With a flick of the reins, the white horses take off down the pathway, flying at a speed that was nowhere near safe, disappearing into the night.

Meanwhile, Crowley finds the glass shoe laying halfway down the steps. He picks it up and stairs at the carriage carrying the beautiful man away from the palace. Hastur and Ligur are at his side. He can’t fight his smile.

“Ligur,” he says, “My horse.”

“No!” replies the Duke, “Leave it to me. Your sister and brother need you here.” He continues down the stairs, “Ligur!” he calls sharply.

“I was having a fine old time,” Ligur says, looking at Crowley, “You had to go and choose that one, didn’t you?” And he’s gone from his side too. Crowley gazes down at the shoe in his hand and then back at the torch-lit palace path. “That’s right. Yes, I did.” he says. 

-xXx-


	9. Dear Crowley

~9~

The carriage flies down the pathways, with the hooves drumming, kicking up the dust. The wheels rattle and the horses rip through the sharp turns. Aziraphale watches out the window with wide eyes, the wind slapping his face. The guards pursue him, and the galloping horses rumble the earth like thunder. They run over the cliffs overlooking the ocean as waves crash upon the jagged rocks. With a loud groaning and creaking, the carriage veers sharply to the right, tilting dangerously over the cliff. Inside, Aziraphale’s body slides to the open window. His upper half hangs over the jagged rocks. He holds onto the inside walls for a tension-filled second before falling back into the middle of the seat, exhaling sharply.

“Oh, my goodness!” the carriage continues to fly along the path. The final gate into the kingdom is close. The King’s guard is gaining on them.

And suddenly, the clock is chiming midnight. Aziraphale’s stomach ties itself in a knot. “Hurry!” he calls to the driver, the horse.

She flicks her reins, “Come on! Come on!”

The white steeds are already going as fast as they can. His heart thumps in his ears, and he hears the guards and the rattle of armor behind him accompanied by the thundering hooves of the horses.

The clock chime fills the night. “Oh! This is such bad timing! How could you let the hours get away from you? You’re an idiot, Aziraphale!” he groans exasperatedly. 

“STOP! IN THE NAME OF THE KING!” the Grand Duke calls.

Aziraphale stares wide-eyed. And then he notices that Crawly’s tail has started to reappear. He meets the serpent-turned-footman’s eyes. “Do something, Crawly!” The snake glances quickly around for something that would give them some leeway. And then he sees it- the lever. He grasps it firmly with his tail and pulls. The iron gate slams closed, and the pursuers are stuck on the other side and they continue to speed away.

The toll of the bell echoes in the air again, and with a glance, Aziraphale realizes that the animals are turning back. The horses ears are growing while their bodies are slowly shrinking, and the snout of the real horse reappears too. With wide eyes, Aziraphale can see that the footman is shrinking. Without thinking, he grabs him and pulls him through the window, just as he turns back into a snake. Aziraphale scoops him up into his hand.

The carriage starts to slow down, leaning heavily as the wheels begin to turn a vine green again. The carriage sharply bounces over every bump, and the vines snap and break with force. The carriage starts to become a pumpkin again, and the walls around Aziraphale turn into seeds. The strong smell of the orange goop inside the pumpkin suffocates him. Aziraphale struggles to hold his balance, putting his arms and legs out to fight for it as the pumpkin bounces like jello. Crawly quickly slithers up and wraps around Aziraphale’s arm. In front of them, half the mice have completely turned back, and they fight to keep their grip on the vines and their companions in front of them.

The pumpkin is tossed violently from side to side. The inside walls are closing in and Aziraphale holds his breath, preparing to be squashed as if he’s in a garbage compressor. The third mouse turns back, and the final horse continues to shrink and gallop on. But it’s too small to hold the weight, and it loses its balance, skidding sharply along the dirt. The pumpkin flies forward, bouncing along. Aziraphale feels like he’s going to be sick. He can’t breathe.

And the suddenly, the pumpkin breaks on a fallen tree trunk in the middle of road, shattering to bits and sending its occupants flying forward. Aziraphale cries out loudly when he’s thrown. He’s airborne for a moment, but then he feels a slight lift in the air that steadies him, and he lands on his feet, staggering forward. And then, everything turns back to how it was, and he finds himself in dirty, tattered rags again. There’s a glass shoe in one hand, and a garden snake wrapped securely around the other wrist. The mice watch from a safe distance, and the dapple-gray horse trots to catch up with them. Somehow, everyone had managed to escape. Aziraphale laughs with relief.

“We’re not dead!” he exclaims whole-heartedly, he looks around at the animals, and down at the snake in his hand, “Is everyone okay?” his horse nudges his shoulder, and he scratches her nose. He strokes Crawly with a fingertip on his small, scaly head. He gets down on his knees to pet each mouse. His smile does not fade from his face.

He feels achy and gross, but at least he was okay. His clothing is ragged and dirty, and his lovely curls are a matted mass. He’s also covered in pumpkin guts, but besides for that, he’s fine. And, Agnes let him keep the glass shoe. He smiles up at the moon and stars, “Thank you Agnes.” he says. And then, upon that, thunder rumbles, clouds pass over the moon, and it begins to rain, drenching his body. He tucks the snake into his breast pocket to keep warm, and then puts the mice into the shoe, which he feebly shields with the tan jacket, and then climbs onto the back of the horse.

“Come on, girl.” He tells her, “Let’s go home.” He presses his bare feet into her side, and she takes off, galloping into the night. And what a truly fun night it had been. He’s smiling and laughing all the way home.

-xXx-

The second he reaches the farmhouse, he tucks his horse in her stable and wraps her in a blanket. He runs inside, sprints up to the attic, and hides his shoe under the floorboard in the box with his favorite books. He runs back down to the kitchen to get the fire started. He sets Crawly down on the straw mat. The snake coils himself in front of the embers. The mice huddle up beside him. Aziraphale goes to the cupboard and gives each mouse a piece of cheese. He takes off his ruined jacket and warms his toes and hands with the crackling flames in front of them. Then he lies down on his side and watches the embers fleck orange, yellow, and white. He’s falling asleep when he hears the front door burst open. Immediately, the animals scatter back into the garden.

“Cinderphale! Wake up, lazy bones!” one of his siblings yells. He jumps up from the mat and greets them at the door.

“Hello!” he says cheerfully. Uriel and Michael eye him suspiciously.

“What’s put you in such a good mood?” Gabriel scoffs.

“Oh! Nothing. I just took a walk in the rain, to…cheer myself up.”

“Distasteful and typical.” Gabriel replies.

“You smell rank.” Sandalphon adds. They all sit down at the table.

“How was the ball?” Aziraphale asks innocently.

“Hmmph. Awful.” Uriel says.

Gabriel looks irritated. Sandalphon and Michael talk animatedly about it.

“For God sake’s shut your mouths!” Gabriel finally loses his cool, “The prince didn’t look at anyone else but that foreign show off of a sparkly foreigner.” Aziraphale turns away and bites back his smile.

“Some rash, pretentious tramp comes marching in,” Uriel says, “And throws himself right at the prince. They danced the entire time and slipped off.”

“…And then that same tramp up and flees the ball at midnight. Honestly, what the hell!?” Gabriel finishes. 

Aziraphale feels the corners of his mouth twitching. He forces down laughter.

“You think this is _funny_!?” he growls viciously. Aziraphale frowns immediately, and some of his happiness fades.

“I just—”

“Shut your stupid mouth and make us our tea. Then go clean yourself up. You smell like a rodent.” Gabriel finishes dismissively. Aziraphale goes quiet for the rest of the evening. After bathing, he excitedly writes in his diary about his time with Crowley. He only gets about two hours of sleep, before he wakes up and goes back to his normal routine. 

* * *

The mood is heavy in the castle, and Crowley is incredibly low in spirits and energy. The glass shoe sits neatly up his bureau, shimmering in the sunlight streaming in through his curtains. He contemplates the incompetence of the guard and the Duke, unable to find his mystery prince. He curses the weather for being so nice, and when he’s relieved of his duties and lessons for the day, he locks himself in his room.

Beelzebub is getting weaker and ashier by the day, but she’s no less stubborn. Although she seems to have softened up in her otherwise harsh treatment of him. One of the servants summons him into her quarters.

It’s dim inside, as the curtains have been drawn over the windows. She’s a tiny, frail figure among the pillows, and she looks much older than she should. When he gets in there, Adam and Dog look up. They had been sitting next to her, and Adam had been reading. He closes the book and stares at Crowley with wide, misty eyes.

“Go on and play with your friends, Adam.” Crowley says gently, weakly ruffling the boy’s hair. He doesn’t protest. His pitiful expression is laced with grief, and Crowley feels a lump in his throat. With the jangling of collar tags as the resonate slam of the door, Adam leaves the room.

Crowley turns and faces the bed where is sickly sister lies.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before I was on my deathbed.” she says, “I’m afraid I haven’t got much time.”

Crowley blinks away the burning behind his eyes. He sits down by her side and takes her trembling, cold hands.

“Remember what I told you. Look after Adam. And don’t be afraid to ask for guidance from everyone around you. You’re going to be king now, and that’s the way it has to be, I’m afraid. You’ll be alright. Just…have courage. Be kind. And find that mystery prince of yours. Marry for love. I want you to be happy. I want both of my brothers to be happy. Be the wonderful, creative ruler I could never be. And never doubt that I love you, Crowley, my little brother.”

Tears spring from his eyes, “I promise I’ll make you proud.” he tells her, “And I will have all the courage, creativity, and kindness in the world.” he says. She smiles weakly.

“I can rest easy after hearing you say that.” she says softly. He chokes out his tears. He embraces her tightly, and lightly kisses her sweat-dotted temple.

That was the last time he’d ever speak to her.

* * *

And merely days later, the castle falls into mourning. As her casket is being put in the ground, Crowley is hugging Adam at his side, and they cling to each other for comfort. Then, he doubles…triples the search parties. Hastur is not happy about this change of rulers at all.

-xXx-

Aziraphale is having tea with Anathema and her mother when he hears the news of King Beelzebub’s passing, and that the rule is now passed down to the eldest prince- Crowley.

“Poor Prince Crowley.” Aziraphale sympathizes, “To lose is older sister. I know what it’s like…” _I want to help somehow._

And then he is hit with a realization. Where one thing is lost, another is found.

“Miss Device, could I borrow parchment and a quill?”

“Of course, Mr. Fell.” she replies. Moments later, he’s taking a deep breath, and writing Crowley a letter.

* * *

_My Dear Crowley,_

_My deepest condolences to you and Adam for the loss of your sister, the King. I ran into her quite literally at the ball, and in the brief interaction I had with her, I found her very humble. May she rest in peace._

_But where one is lost, another is found. I know you’ve been searching desperately for me, and I’m ready to tell you who I really am. You’ll find me in the forest by the stream where we ran into each other, when the clock strikes midnight on the third day. I hope to see you soon._

_~Angel_

* * *

Aziraphale rereads the letter, folds it up, and then takes a walk to the palace to deliver it. The letter never gets to Crowley. It gets in the hands of the Grand Duke Hastur instead and is withheld.

“Any news?” Crowley asks, pacing the floor of his study.

“Nothing.” Hastur says, “Your Highness, these are desperate times. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You cannot keep this search going forever. You need to get your head out of the clouds and realize that this ‘prince’ is long gone. You must understand that and marry one of the other suitors that were presented to you.” 

“No. I will not. As part of her last words to me, my sister told me to marry for love. I do not love any of the suitors that were presented to me and I never could. My heart belongs with the angel from third night at the ball. He is out there. I know, because I’ve seen him more than once. And there’s one more thing we haven’t tried. His glass shoe he left on the stairs—we can use that to find him. Have everyone in the kingdom who wears a suit line up to try it on. Whoever it fits is my mystery prince.”

“How does that even work? What is this, some sort of child’s fairy story!?” Hastur says sharply, “Multiple people could have the same shoe size!”

“No. Well yes. But no. There’s something about this shoe that’s sort of…enchanted, like…it’ll lead me to the right one, I can feel it.” Hastur looks at him like he’s gone mental.

“This is an order of the King. Everyone in the kingdom who wears a suit—particularly every gentleman, is to try on this glass shoe. Whoever it fits will be the one I’ll wed.”

“Fine.” Hastur says, “But, as far as I’m concerned, _your Majesty,_ your head will always be too far up in the clouds. If this does not work, it will serve as a lesson for you to get your head out of the sky and back on earth where it belongs.” 

-xXx-


	10. Lavender's Blue, Dilly, Dilly

~10~

And thus, it was decreed, that every young person in the kingdom who wore a suit would try on the magical glass shoe.

Naturally, when Aziraphale heard this news, he eagerly raced back to the house to fetch his shoe from under the floorboard in his attic.

But it wasn’t there. And neither was the diary.

“Looking for this?” Gabriel says from behind him. Aziraphale stiffens.

“How did you—”

“So…you’re the mystery prince the kingdom’s been buzzing about, eh? Or should I call you the ungrateful tramp that stole away the chance at happiness and fortune the Archangels deserve?”

“Gabriel—”

A book thumps at Aziraphale’s feet. He looks down. It’s his diary, but it’s been trampled and tossed in ash and mud.

“I know everything.” he says, “I read all that rubbish you wrote down.”

“But that’s—that’s private!” Aziraphale exclaims, flushing with embarrassment.

“All your lust and love for that crimson-haired prince! He could never love you. A ragged, ugly, pathetic servant boy with no family or inheritance to speak of.”

His words cut like a knife. They hurt even though he knew, at the very bottom of his heart, that they weren’t true. That whatever spark, whatever chemistry there was between him and Crowley was just as real as his sore, bandaged hands.

“I honestly feel betrayed.” Gabriel says, eyes blazing, “We could have kicked you out onto the streets to be a homeless beggar, but instead, we granted you hospitality. We gave you a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food on your plate. And you turn around and this is the thanks we get?” he shakes his head, “Ungrateful tramp.” He tosses the glass shoe in the air and catches it.

“There is only one way I will allow this.” Gabriel says. He gets up and crosses over to Aziraphale and the door, “You give this family positions in the court. You ensure that Michael and Uriel are married off to wealthy nobles, and you leave your part of the ruling to me and Sandalphon. That’ll leave you with your prince and all the luxuries of being a king.”

Aziraphale contemplates this for a few moments before he looks Gabriel straight in the face and says, “No.”

“No?” Gabriel echoes. 

“You may use me, treat me as horribly and cruelly as you want to, insult my family, and take over this house. I couldn’t protect it, or the servants, or my mother, from you. But I _will_ protect Crowley from you. You and your cruelty and your vanity. And your corruption. You and your ungrateful, ruthless siblings.”

Gabriel’s expression hardens. “So be it.” And then, he takes the glass shoes, and smashes it, leaving nothing but a broken piece of a heel, which he thrusts into his pocket. Aziraphale clenches his fists and fights angry tears. He bites his lip. _Have courage. Have courage. Have courage…_

“Then you can stay here for the rest of your miserable days and starve for all I care.” Gabriel turns and leaves the attic, slamming and bolting the door behind him. Aziraphale listens to his fading footsteps. He exhales. He smiles sadly out the window, and then he falls back onto his rough bed, and daydreams about the pleasant memories he has of his mother, the animals, Anathema, and his time at the ball. But mostly, he daydreams of Crowley. His smile. His hair. His dancing. His charm. His kindness. His beautiful eyes. The memories they shared together. As long as he had that, he could die happily in this dreary little attic. 

-xXx-

Gabriel sends Uriel and Michael to deliver the broken heal to the Duke. In the confrontation, Michael sits across from him at a dimly-lit table.

“Where did you find this?” the Duke asks.

“It was taken off our servant boy.” Michael says.

“Stolen, no doubt.” Uriel adds, “So he could impersonate a prince and make a fool out of your poor king.”

Hastur clicks his tongue, “It will break his heart, poor lad.”

“A shame, that.” Uriel says.

“Although I’d wait until this is all over to tell him the truth.” Michael adds, “If it isn’t too bold to say, he’d be easier to bend to your bidding when he’s full of sorrow and all but spent. We all know he’s a foolish boy, hardly fit for a king.”

“That’s a cruel way to go about it, but that’s the way of the world.” Hastur replies, “You and your family will be paid handsomely for this.”

“Thank you, sir.” finishes Uriel, “We are indebted to you.” 

Early the next morning, before the sun rose, Ligur and the Duke, with Adam and Crowley, set out with the guard to the gates to try the shoe on every townsperson (it was a small kingdom, they could get it covered in one day).

They searched the whole kingdom without any luck, until they came to the last house where dwelt Cinderphale and his ex-siblings.

-xXx-

Aziraphale watches from the windowsill in the attic, and he wonders if he made the right decision. He sees the guard waiting at the door, and the figure of the Grand Duke and two others let into the house. He feels a lump in his throat and the heaviness of a weary heart. Crowley would surely be devastated, for he’d never see his Angel again. But it was better this way. What was Aziraphale? Nothing but a lonely, orphaned commoner. A servant. The house didn’t even belong to him anymore. He was nothing, really. From socio-economic and political standpoint…it didn’t make sense. But with his heart, to be with Crowley was sound. He could get away from this place, to freedom and love. But real life wasn’t like a fairytale. He was a victim of circumstance, stuck in his low class. And that’s where he would stay. He wished he could see the prince—the young king, just once more. Then he could die happy. Dying prematurely too, just meant he’d get to see his mother again. And there’d be no more Gabriel Archangel and his rotten siblings…

But his heavy heart tells him the aftermath of this all, even if he tried to be optimistic, wouldn’t be as easy as he was making it out to be in his head.

To get his mind off things, he opts to sing away his sorrows.

_Lavender’s blue dilly, dilly_

_Lavender’s green._

_When I am king, dilly, dilly_

_You’ll be my sweet._

_Call up your men dilly, dilly,_

_Set them to work._

_Tend the gard’n, dilly, dilly_

_Read through the book._

_Some plant our flow’rs, dilly, dilly,_

_Some write wise words._

_While you and I dilly, dilly_

_Fly like lovebirds._

_Night’ngales sing, dilly, dilly_

_And Angels play,_

_We shall be safe, dilly, dilly_

_Out of harm’s way._

_Who told me so, dilly, dilly?_

_Who told me so?_

_‘Ineffable’ dilly, dilly_

_That’s how I know._

_Lavender’s blue dilly, dilly_

_Lavender’s green,_

_You are my dear, dilly, dilly_

_My dear Crowley…_

It is only then that he becomes aware that the window has been opened. He stops singing and blushes with embarrassment. But before he can close it, there’s a jangling of keys and the door swings open. Aziraphale jumps.

“See. I told you. No one of importance.” Gabriel says coldly, “Just a lowly servant boy.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Adam says sharply, “The King, my brother, was very specific- everyone who wears a suit.”

Aziraphale smiles weakly. Adam meets his gaze. “Well, come on. You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”

Aziraphale draws in a deep breath and starts to go towards the door. On his way, Gabriel sharply grabs his arm, “No. You’re not. I forbid it.”

“You would defy the king?” Adam asks smartly, “That’s treason you know. You’d be executed.” Aziraphale forces back a chuckle.

“I am his older brother. His guardian. I have all the authority.” Gabriel replies. Aziraphale jerks his arm free.

“No. You’re not. You have never been.” And then he turns and follows Adam. When he climbs down the stairs, he sees the members of the guard, the Grand Duke Hastur looking rather guilty, and Crowley himself. His face lights up. So does Crowley’s. Aziraphale bows respectfully.

“Your Majesty…” he draws in another breath and looks up, “I am Aziraphale. I’ve no family. No inheritance. Not even a house to call my own anymore. I don’t even know if that lovely shoe will fit…but, if it does, will you take me as I am? A studious, slightly fussy countryman who thinks you’re wonderful?”

There was no fooling Crowley. His face lights up even brighter. His smile reflects in his beautiful eyes. “You don’t even have to ask me.” he says.

“W-well…alright then.” And then, Aziraphale sits down on a nearby chair, slips out of his worn brown shoe, and lifts his stocking-covered foot. Like before, Crowley’s slender fingers gently take his ankle, and slip it on. It fits him perfectly.

“A perfect fit!” Crowley declares. He stands up and addresses the room, “Do you see that everyone? It fits him perfectly!” he can barely hide his excitement. He laughs whole-heartedly. The guard cheers. Aziraphale beams in the glow and slips into his regular shoes again. He picks up the glass shoe and puts it on the cushion. Crowley turns back around, with a grin spread from ear to ear.

“Aziraphale.” He repeats, “Aziraphale. A-Zi-ra-Fell.”

Aziraphale says, “Yes, Crowley, that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“I’m trying to remember it, it’s long.” he says. Aziraphale chuckles.

“Could I still call you Angel? As a term of endearment, sort of.” he asks.

Aziraphale smiles, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, alright.” he puts out a hand to help him off the chair. Once he’s standing, he takes him by the elbow. It is only then he hears the thundering of feet across the hall and Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon appear in the main room.

“Oh Aziraphale!” Sandalphon starts, “Our dear brother!” He doesn’t respond quick enough, and then he hears feet coming down the steps. And there’s Gabriel, looking defeated and sorry for himself. Aziraphale turns to him and says, “Take care of yourselves. I do hope you’ll be able to manage without me. And one more thing. Mother would want me to say this, so I will: I forgive you.” And he means it.

He turns his back on them, and arm in arm with Crowley, he leaves his ex-family alone in their stolen house, utterly defeated.

* * *

_They would soon leave with Hastur, the Grand Duke. Banished from the kingdom for all their wrongdoings, conspiracies, and cruelty. On their walk of shame out the kingdom gates, Aziraphale’s bird friends come and peck out their eyes. And Crawly, the serpent, bites at their feet. And they limp away, blinded, and shamed, never to be seen in the kingdom again._

* * *

Aziraphale gives his house to the Devices, to thank them for all the help they’d given him.

On the walk back towards town, Aziraphale turns to Crowley and says, “I am more than grateful for this, and I think you’re wonderful, but our marriage feels a bit sudden, could we court first? I’d like to get to know you properly, without any more secret identities or assumptions.”

“Of course. There’s no need to worry about that, Aziraphale. The date is set for next year anyway. We’ll court first, and next year we’ll decide if we’d like to marry still. How about that for an agreement?”

“That works perfectly.” Aziraphale replies. They exchange smiles. Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand and gives it a squeeze before he pulls it towards his face and gently presses his lips to it for a kiss. And some of the stiffness and pain fade away. 

_Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly_

_Lavender’s green,_

_I am your dear, dilly, dilly,_

_You’re my Crowley._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it, folks! Thanks so much for reading and for all the love I've gotten on this! I really hope you enjoyed this little fairytale. And, I have good news for you. Since this story went over so well, I have decided to write a whole series of Good Omens fairytales. 
> 
> Here's a little hint for the second one that's coming: Doesn't Crowley have lovely hair?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! Welcome to my retelling of Cinderella with Good Omens! I'm mostly following the Disney versions, but I'm taking aspects of the original stories by the Brother's Grimm and Charles Perrault. I'm deliberately mixing fairytale writing style with my own too. I hope you all enjoy this! Happy reading!


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